GIFT  OF 


'- 


SERMONS  OF  CONSOLATION. 


BY 

I      \V.   P.  GREENWOOD,   D  D 

LAW  WSlSTKft  OF  UXO'f   CBAPBL,   108TOR. 


A    NEW   BDmOH. 


BOSTON. 

LITTLE,  BROWN  AND  COMPANY. 
IM4. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1863,  by 
LITTLE,  BROWN  AND  COMPANY, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachu- 
setts. 


RIVERSIDE,   CAMBRIDGE  : 
PRINTED    BY    H.    0.    HO  UGH  TON. 


PREFACE. 


I   ii  \YF  1> ••« -n  induced  to  publish  a  volume 
of  sermons  chiefly  by  the  desire  of  being  yet 
heard  by  the  people  of  my  ministry,  though 
withheld  by  the  hand  of  PruvicK-mv    i 
addressing  or   meeting  them   in    tin-   chmvh. 
But  I  will  not  ilfiiy  that  with  this  desire  was 
minglt  <1  tin*  hope  that  the  volume  might  be 
received    with    favor,  and   do  some  ser 
beyond  tlu»  bounds  of  my  parish. 

The  tone  and  character  of  the  sermons  has 
been  I   by  the   conviction    I 

in   common   with   many  of  my 
.  that  a  great  dearth  existed  of  books 
of  a  consolatory  character,  such  as  are  ear- 
ly sought  for  by  mourners  in  tin-  -lays  of 
lining,  and  are  suitable  t«»  1«    placed 
hands.     Although   the  <1  .    has 

.'JC9441 


vi  PREFACE. 

of  late  been  partly  supplied  by  one  or  two 
useful  compilations,  I  am  acquainted  with  no 
volume  of  sermons  devoted  to  the  single  pur- 
pose of  consolation.  If  there  be  such  a  vol- 
ume, it  has  not  come  into  use  among  us. 

But  while  I  have  given  my  collection  of 
discourses  unity  by  restricting  it  to  this  one 
object,  I  am  conscious  that  I  have  at  the  same 
time  exposed  it  to  the  charge   of  containing 
repetitions,  not  of  thought  only,  but  of  phrase. 
Repetitions,  doubtless,  there  are  ;  but  I  know 
not  how  they  could  easily  have  been  avoided, 
and  I  trust  they  will  not  prove  tiresome.     The 
discourses  were  written  separately,  at  distant 
intervals,  and  with  no  idea,  at  the  time,  that 
they  would  ever  be  brought  together.     More- 
over, the  great  sources  of  consolation  are  but 
few,  and  remain  the  same  from  year  to  year 
and  age  to  age,  because  they  are  sufficient  for 
their  end  and  for  our  condition.      Not  being 
able  to  avoid  repetition  entirely,  I  have,  how- 
ever, obviated  the  difficulty,  as  far  as  possible, 
by  introducing  a  large  variety  of  topics  within 
the  prescribed  limits,  —  the  end  being  always 
that  of  consolation. 


PR  vii 

The   date  which  is   printed   at   the    end   of 
each  sermon  the  time  when  it   was 

first  preached.      I  have   done   this,   which   in 
:     can     be    of    no    inconvenience    to    the 
reader,  merely  for  the  sake  of  my  own  pri- 
vate refercK 

F.  W.  P.  G. 

VKMBEB   1,   1842. 


CONTKNTS. 


SERMON    I 
SORROW  AJTD  JOT  1 

SERMON  II. 

GOD  INCOMPREHENSIBLE 12 

SERMON  III. 
GOD  ALL-POWERFUL 24 

IV. 
GOD  THE  GUARDIAN  OF  SOULS 88 

SERMON  V. 
FOLLT  or  ATHXXIM  .     60 


SERMON  VI. 
DWELLING  121  THE  TEMPLE 60 


X  CONTENTS. 

SERMON  VII. 
DEATH  AN  APPOINTMENT 71 

SERMON  VIII. 
THE  TIME  OF  DEATH       ........      80 

SERMON  IX. 
THE  HOUSE  OF  MOURNING 94 

SERMON  X. 
CONSOLATIONS  OF  RELIGION     .       .        .       .f  .105 

SERMON  XL 
BLESSING  GOD  IN  BEREAVEMENT  .       -       „        .117 

SERMON  XII. 
REMEMBRANCE  OF  THE  RIGHTEOUS  *        .        .    128 

SERMON  Xin. 
NOTHING  WITHOUT  CHRIST       .       .        .        .        .        .138 

SERMON  XIV. 
PERPETUITY  OF  CHRIST'S  KINGDOM        ....    151 

SERMON  XV. 
INDEPENDENCE  ON  HUMAN  SYMPATHY  .        .        .164 


C0.v  xi 

SERMON   XVI. 
:<T  OUR  FELLOW-SUFFERER 176 

SERMON   XVII. 
SEEING  THE  DEPARTED  189 

SERMON  XVIII. 
THE  CROWN  or  TBOKHB 200 

SERMON  XIX. 
RECOGNITION  or  FRIENDS 210 

SERMON  XX. 
VOICES  FROM  HEAVEN 288 

SERMON  XXL 
THE  GOOD  REYEALED      .  .148 

SERMON  XXH. 
WALKING  BY  FAITH 267 

SKRMoN    XXIII. 
LESSONS  or  AUTUMN 368 

SERMON  XXH 
IT  is  WELL  .       .       .280 


CONTENTS. 
SERMON  XXV. 


OFFICES  OF  MEMORY 

SERMON  XXVI. 


PEACEFUL  SLEEP 


SERMON  XXVII. 
CHRIST  WITH  us  AT  EVENING 


SERMONS. 


SERMON  I. 


SORROW  AND  JOY. 

Is  any  among  yon  afflicted?    Let  him  pray.    Is  any  merry? 
Let  him  sing  psalms.  —  Jamtt  v.  13. 

MUCH  of  t  liirli  is  also  in- 

>  be  the  discipline  of  life,  is  divided 
between  its  sorrows  and  its  joys.  It  is  the 
counsel  of  the  apostle  James,  that  tli<  M  nti- 
im-nts  and  principles  of  religion  should  be 
present  with  their  holy  influences  in  botli  of 
these  conditions.  He  would  have  us  san< 

troubles  and  our  pleasures  by  thoughts  of 
Him  who  appoints  tin m.     \V  tbe  heart 

be  depressed  by  grief  or  elated  by  gladness, 
;t  be  placed  und«  r  the  wise  care  of  piety, 
so  that  it  may  be  neither  sunk  too  low  nor 
raised  too  high,  but  always   k»-pt   within   the 

fC  <>f  duty,  and   m-ar  unto  God.      It    : 
be  so  instructed,  that  it  may  pour  out  its  ful- 
l 


2  SORROW  AND  JOY. 

ness  in  supplication  or  in  praise,  and  not  suffer 
the  wealth  of  its  deep  fountains  to  run  to  waste. 
Some  hearts  are  guided,  and  some  are  not, 
by  the  spirit  of  our  text ;  and  mankind  might 
almost  be  classed,  with  regard  to  religious  char- 
acter, by  the  different  ways  in  which  they  en- 
tertain sorrow  and  joy.  In  determining  for 
ourselves  the  great  question,  whether  we  are 
living  under  the  law  of  God  or  not,  whether 
we  are  guided  and  governed  by  his  voice  or 
not,  whether  we  reverently  regard  his  will  or 
not,  we  can  have  no  better  criterion  than  the 
manner  in  which  we  find  ourselves,  affected  by 
the  chastenings  and  the  mercies,  by  the  dark 
and  the  bright  dispensations  of  his  Providence. 
In  determining  the  same  question,  also,  con- 
cerning others,  so  far  as  we  are  permitted  to 
determine  it,  that  is  to  say,  in  forming  those 
opinions  of  general  and  individual  character, 
which  observation  and  intercourse  oblige  and 
require  us  to  form,  but  which  should  always 
be  directed  by  the  utmost  fairness  and  the  gen- 
tlest charity,  the  same  criterion  may  be  applied, 
only  with  far  more  caution  and  tenderness  in 
the  case  of  others  than  in  our  own.  What  we 
know  of  ourselves  will  assist  us  in  our  observa- 
tion of  others  ;  what  we  see  of  others  will  aid 
us  in  the  examination  of  ourselves.  Bat  it  is 
ourselves  whom  we  should  search  the  most 
thoroughly  and  judge  the  most  strictly.  It 


SORROW  AND  JOT.  3 

is    ourselves    of    whom    we    should    learn    the 

:    the   mo>t. 

1I..W  :  with  us  in  those  two  oppo 

istence  to  which  our 
:    with    our   own    soul-,  when 
•r whelmed  by  sorrow,  and   when 
illumined  by  joy  ?     To  which  c 
do  we  belong?  to  those  who  regard,  or  those 
who  disregard  the  counsel  of  the  apostle  / 

To   COL  the    condition    which    is 

first  ii  the  text,  how  is  it  with  our 

sorrow  ?      How   are  they  a 
do    they    dem<-au    themselves  ?     Wl 
do   they    look?       \Vliat    is    tli  ii     la 

ii   we   are   ntlli<  tr<l,   do   we   pray?      \)<> 
we  go  for  <  to   the  Comforter?      \^> 

we  1  t    our  woes  at  tlie  feet 

of  o  •!*?     Do  we  sympathi/e  with 

n  he  says,  4<  Be  n 

citul  unto  me,  O  God,  be  merciful  unto  nn -, 
for  my  soul  adfer  the 

shadow  of  thy  w'm^s  >!iall   l.e  my  refuu'-,  until 
y  be  overpast?"     Do  we  regard 
s  as  the  sober  angels  of  God,   sent 
:i<l    Iradiii^r    to    him  :    or,    on 
as  if  affliction   came  forth  from 
•  lo  we  rest  our  regar<l>  uj»"n  the 
grou  .  a>t  upwards  not  a  glance,  not  a 

hop<  ug  of  a 

ruiight   before   tli 


4  SORROW  AND  JOT. 

the  Almighty  but  by  some  signal  misfortune, 
some  strong  and  irresistible  grief,  and  only 
then  to  cry  out  in  terror  or  impatience,  and 
pray  to  be  delivered  from  trouble,  without 
praying  for  submission,  and  strength  to  bear 
it  ?  If  this  is  all  our  prayer,  we  do  not  pray. 
There  is  no  faith,  no  humility,  no  resignation 
in  such  a  cry.  It  is  complaint,  not  prayer. 
We  are  among  the  worldly.  We  have  yet  to 
learn  the  nature  and  to  experience  the  power 
of  true  religion. 

Let  us  look  for  a  moment  about  us,  and  ob- 
serve how  sorrows  are  entertained  by  the  mass 
of  mankind.  If  they  are  afflicted,  do  they 
pray  ?  Far  from  it.  I  do  not  mean  that  it 
is  necessary  they  should  pray  aloud  in  afflic- 
tion, and  before  the  presence  of  men.  Nor 
would  such  praying,  of  itself  and  unaccom- 
panied by  other  manifestations,  prove  that  they 
prayed.  But  their  manners,  their  language, 
their  conduct,  show  plainly  that  they  do  not 
pray  ;  that  the  spirit  within  them  does  not 
pray ;  that  they  do  not  bow  themselves  down 
in  humble  supplication  before  Him  who  chast- 
ens them.  They  do  not  look  beyond  the  mere 
event,  the  loss,  the  disappointment,  the  pain, 
the  care,  or  whatever  else  the  immediate  oc- 
casion of  their  grief  may  be.  They  do  not 
attempt  to  raise  themselves  above  it.  They 
are  the  slaves  of  circumstance.  They  talk  of 


SORROW  AND  JOY.  5 

murmur  at   their  destiny.     They 
blindlv  submit  to  a  hlind  fortune,  or  as  blindly 

linst  it. 

Oiu-  man  i^  irritated  by  adversity.    He  takes 
no  pains  to  conceal  hi  ion.     The  gloom 

.nder   his   hroux.      He  speak < 

litlered  some  sore  injustice.     He  cannot 

specify  any  individual   who  has  wronged  him, 

but  conceives  himself  wronged  in  some  way  by 

t  itself,  which  causes  his  affliction  :  and 

as  he  cannot   make   the   event    feel    any  ivtalia- 

•  roscness  in  the  ears  or  to 

yes  of  all  who  approach   him.     He  is  vol- 

ain  and  wearying  complaints,  or 

the   Mil-rounding  at: 
stern  and  forbidding 

A;  in  is  not  irritated  hy  adv.T-i; y,  or 

>how  that  he  is  irri- 
tated.    He   endures   mi-fortune,   here;1. 

.     But  what  endurance!  hard,  cold,  proud, 
IS.      What    cndur 

lorant  of  the  ministry  of  hope, 
.    holding    no 

erse    wit'n    the    inviviM,-    and     the    future. 
ning   and   cram|.5ng, 

not  supporting  the  soul.      It  speaks  the  Mitler- 
;  lainly  a  and 

says,  "   1  has  come,  and   I   niu^t 

•annot    he   undone.      The, 
d,  and,  as  I 


0  SORROW  AND  JOY. 

cannot  resist,  I  have  nothing  to  do  but  sub- 
mit to  them.  As  I  cannot  cure  the  ills  of  for- 
tune, the  world  shall  see  that  I  can  endure 
them.  I  will  not  complain  ;  for  what  is  the  use 
of  complaining  ?  I  cannot  help  what  has  hap- 
pened, and  why  should  I  trouble  myself  about 
it?"  Tins  is  his  endurance;  and  this  is  all 
the  use  which  he  sees  fit  to  make  of  the  moral 
strength  and  spiritual  capacities  with  which 
God  has  endowed  him,  and  of  the  lessons 
which  God  has  sent  him.  He  has  a  soul,  as  if 
he  had  it  not.  He  has  a  soul,  made  in  the  like- 
ness of  its  Creator,  and  he  seems  as  unmind- 
ful of  that  divine  affinity  as  if  it  had  been 
made  by  chance,  in  the  likeness  of  chance, 
and  under  the  absolute  dominion  of  chance. 
The  way  in  which  joy  is  received  and  ap- 
preciated by  the  multitude  is  not  in  its  nature 
different  from  their  entertainment  of  sorrow. 
It  shows  the  same  shallowness,  the  same  want 
of  reflection  and  hope  and  elevation,  the  same 
confinement  to  the  present,  the  same  depend- 
ence on  circumstance.  The  joy  of  one  will 
be  noisy  and  boisterous,  while  that  of  another 
will  run  in  a  gentler,  though  not  a  deeper 
stream.  Both  are  derived  from  casual  sources, 
flow  but  a  short  distance,  and  are  soon  dried 
up.  There  is  enough  of  mirth  among  men, 
but  very  little  pious  mirth.  The  spirit 
which  is  made  glad  by  the  mercies  of  God, 


SORROW  AND  JOT.  7 

-alms  to  liis  praise  and  <j;ivcth  no 

:h  not  the  INalm- 

:he  Lord,  O  my  soul, 

and  "t  all   his  henetit-. 

mindful  of  t:  uinot 

•  :i«'m.      Its  niiiMc  h-is  no  rich  chords 

Bg,    hut    i  and   flip: 

a  song  of  earth,  transit-lit  as  dm.  hut  not,  like 

I 

ichjoy.      It   s.-nds  forth  no  pulses  of 
no  ]  .     It  is  a  s 

which  looks  not  beyond   the   occasion   \\hich 
gave  it  hirth.  -   n««t  \\  lu-n   t 

sion 

!    <>wn  in 

iu    the    iii'-re   r\vnt.       I  !•> 
:  which  d  to  him  from 

abov  id  i'»und  it  or  bought  it;  as 

it'  it  y  his   own,   his  own  to  u- 

he  pleases.    1  !•• 

hut  |   not   that    thrre  is  One  who  be- 

<.     He  enjoys,  but   1  »  no 

eaceful  hy  his  hap|»incss.     He 

•   psalm   of  thank^ivini:    I 

H'SS    or    perp'  »ry  ; 

of  sweet    savor    is    hurnt   on    the 

cold  and  uuv5>itrd  altar  of  the  temple  within. 

Am    I    at    :ill    Q  th»-<e   drlin- 

Arc  '  of  many  thus 

born  If  I  am 


8  SORROW  AND  JOT. 

then  the  conclusion  follows  inevitably,  that  this 
number  are  either  without  religion,  or  that 
their  religion  is  for  the  most  part  nominal  and 
without  efficacy.  Some  make  no  pretensions 
to  religion.  They  neither  have  nor  claim  to 
have  it.  Are  we  content  to  be  numbered 
among  them  ?  God  grant  that  we  may  not  be. 
But  if  we  are  not,  we  must  necessarily  fall 
into  the  class  of  those  whose  religion  is  lifeless 
and  inefficient,  if  our  sorrow  is  prayerless  and 
the  hymn  of  our  joy  rises  not  to  heaven.  This 
is  a  test  from  the  certainty  of  which  we  need 
not  strive  to  free  ourselves  by  any  sophistry ; 
for  there  is  no  such  thing  as  eluding  it.  If  in 
adversity  we  are  murmuring  and  despairing, 
or  rigid  and  obstinate  ;  if  in  prosperity  we 
congratulate  ourselves  without  thanking  our 
Maker  or  even  thinking  of  him  ;  if  the  occa- 
sions of  grief  and  gladness  do  not  both  lead  us 
into  his  presence  and  unite  us  to  him  with  in- 
creasing closeness,  we  may  be  sure  that  our 
religion  is  sadly  deficient,  that  it  is  little  more 
than  a  name,  and  that  we  are  very  far  from 
the  kingdom  of  God. 

But  who  is  he  in  whose  heart  the  principles 
of  religion  have  been  carefully,  tenderly  fos- 
tered, and  on  whose  conduct  and  life  they 
exercise  their  proper  energies,  and  to  whose 
character  they  yield  their  natural  fruits  ?  We 
may  know  him  by  his  deportment  in  the  day 


SORROW  AND  JOT.  9 

of  tribulation  and  an^ni-h,  and  in  the  day  of 

prosperity  and  rejoicing;  and  if  we  ran  set  in 

our  own  dejM.rtm  -nt  any  good  correspond' 

to  111-  P€   a    fair  ground   for  concluding 

that  our  !  l>y  the 

influences,  that  we  have  some  true  knowl- 

on,   some   practical    experience  of 

its  supporting  and   sanctifying   po\\er.      In  ;ii- 

rys.      lie  needs  not  to  be  directly 

of  the  apostle's   counsel.     He  goes 

easily  and  naturally,  and  by  an  \\\\\  npt- 

.lv  I-'ather,   and   nid)«">«»in 
i ;im.      I  ie  waits  not  for  other  con- 
solations, but  looks   immediately  to   the  i:race 
of  (i  ug,  **  O  God,  thou  art   my  ( 

early  will    I  -e."     "From   the  ends  of 

will  I  call  upon  thee,  when  my  1 

•*S."  of  hi-  prayer  is 

peae  is   peace   on   his    countenance, 

peace  in  his  S   peace   in   his   , 

deportment,    h-caiiM-    peace    lias   come   down 

hose  only  is,  and  1 

't.s  abode  in  his  quiet  and  tni-tin:;  -..ul. 
You  m  iv  witness  his  sadness,  you  may  see  his 
tears;  hut  his  sadness  wears  no  despairin 

and   there  is  no  unbecoming 
passion  in  hi  He  complain^  not 

ii^es  no  such  power.      II     nei- 
th<-r  uhmits  to  foi-tuue,  for  he  wor- 

,d  and  unehai. 


10  SORROW  AND  JOY. 

able  God.  How  soft  is  his  sorrow,  and  how  it 
softens  without  distressing  others  ! 

o 

And  how  harmless,  how  childlike,  how  grate- 
ful is  his  joy  !  How  careful  is  he  not  to  let  it 
run  to  riot,  and  spend  itself  in  vain  dissipation. 
The  sono*  of  his  gladness  is  a  psalm  of  orati- 

C5  O  1  ?7> 

tude,  the  echoes  of  which  may  be  heard  from 
every  object  around  him.  He  sympathizes 
with  all  the  innocent  joy  on  the  earth,  but  he 
remembers  that  all  this  joy  has  a  source  ;  and 
as  before  in  sorrow,  so  now  in  delight,  he  looks 
beyond  earth  and  earthly  things.  He  regarded 
affliction  as  sent,  and  he  prayed  and  was  re- 
signed. He  regards  his  happiness  as  given, 
and  he  is  grateful,  and  seeks  to  impart  of  his 
abundance,  and  make  others  happy  and  cheer- 
ful and  grateful. 

o 

"  His  fine-toned  heart,  like  the  harp  of  the  winds, 
Answers  in  sweetness  each  breeze  that  sings; 

And  the  storm  of  grief,  and  the  breath  of  joy, 
Draw  nothing  but  music  from  its  strings." 

Is  this  the  manner  in  which  we  receive  the 
impressions  of  sorrow  and  joy  ?  Are  we  free 
from  temporal  bonds  and  the  authority  of  pass- 
ing things  ?  Is  it  our  custom  to  rise  above 
the  shadows  of  earth  into  the  light  of  heaven  ? 
Do  we  get  out  from  the  thraldom  of  mere 
events,  and  regard  what  is  beyond  and  above 
these  events  ?  In  these  two  great  conditions 
of  life,  the  sad  and  the  joyful  conditions,  do  we 


SORROW  AND  J  11 

1  a  Supreme  Disposer,  and  connect 
Oonelrefl  ^ith  him,   and   feel   and  act  as  under 

It'  so,  then 

to  religion.  in  the  right  way,  the  way 

of  life,  and,  without  donht   or  mistru-t.  >h.»uld 

ncc  to  press  onward 

in  tin-  >ame.     Doubt  and  nii<tru<t  lu-loinr  only 
to  those  who  have  not  ni;i  -n  their  own, 

by  a  practical  and  close  Application  of  its  prin- 
<   to  the   conditions   of  their    life.     They 
may  have 

.  with  en:  .  that  ivlLi.in  wafl 

no  M  to  tliem.     Bat  they  have  not  n 

-    they  have 

1  and  sn  unless  it 

has  taught  them  to  pray  and  to  sing.     It  really 
•s  with   those  alone  within  whom  it  effect- 
ual!;, .        !  A  lio   ha\  !    its 
lu-lp  and    oj,,-ratioii  within    them   can;i«4  d 
•e,  and  cann«>t  in 

:th   them   a  matter  0 
sion   only,   but  of  c< 

ii-t  dis- 

•••11  this   and    that  «.|.mi"ii  or  t'.nn, 

•j:o  on  in  tin-  path  which  th-y  hare  f-'It 

to  I.-  truth  and  salvation,  in  it 

1    health    and 
|.  or  hoitat",  l»n 

raya  in  tln^j.irit, 
s  unto  d 


SERMON  II. 


GOD  INCOMPREHENSIBLE. 

Behold,  I  go  forward,  but  he  is  not  there;  and  backward, 
but  I  cannot  perceive  him;  on  the  left  hand,  where  he  doth 
work,  but  I  cannot  behold  him;  he  hideth  himself  on  the  right 
hand,  that  I  cannot  see  him.  —  Job  xxiii.  8. 

THE  God  whom  we  worship  is  incomprehen- 
sible. The  Being  whom  we  are  required  to 
serve  is  not  subject  to  the  apprehension  of  any 
of  our  senses.  The  Spirit,  holy,  uncreate,  and 
eternal,  whom  the  heart  should  love  supremely, 
and  the  mind  must  reverence  with  an  awful 
fear,  cannot  be  grasped  by  the  spirit  of  man. 
The  stream  perceives  not  its  fountain  ;  the  crea- 
ture understands  not  its  Creator.  Many  things 
we  know,  but  we  know  not  him  who  knows  us 
best,  —  far  better  than  we  know  ourselves.  Our 
faculties  make  their  little  progresses  from  in- 
fancy to  maturity  ;  the  human  intellect  en- 
larges by  painful  additions  the  field  of  its  ex- 
ercise ;  and  the  stores  of  knowledge  receive  a 
slow  and  fluctuating  increase  from  age  to  age  ; 
but  the  Source  of  all  intelligence  is  not  found 


GOD  INCOMPREHENSIBLE.  13 

out  to  perfection,  —  the  depths  of  the  Divine 
1   ivmuin    untathomed.      We  may  u'o   for- 
ward :  we  may  pierce,  as  far  as  our  si^ht  will 
permit  us  into  the  uncertain  void  of  futui ' 

i  the  accumulated  heights  of  what  WG  have 
done,  we  may  look  out  on  the  shadowy  and 
mi-ty  i  hat  we  may  do,  —  but  He  is 

not  there  ;  there  is  no  promise  in  our  nature 
which   1  :o  liope  for  a  clearer  diMvni- 

ment  on  earth  of  the  nature  of  God.     We  may 
go  I);  !,  far  back  among  the  monuments 

and  opinions  and  great  names  of  remotest  an- 
tiquity,   hut    there  we   cann<  :  i?«    him, 

0    knowledge   of  him   gn 

than    our   own.      Th'«    light!   of  anti«[uitv  *hed 

no  !••  !io  sages  are  confounded,  and 

the  oracles  arc  dumb.     We  may  turn   to  the 

h-f'r,  and  though  we  are 

surrounded  by  the  works,  we  cannot  behold 

the  Maker ;  we  see  beauty  and  order,  and  we 

that   the  Cause  must  be  wise ;  we  see 

magi  !   sublimity,  and  we  know  that 

the  Cause  is  great;  happiness,  and  we  call  it 

merciful  and  good  ;  1>  Inch  is  thus  wise 

icreat  and  good  we  cannot  see.      I  Ic  hideth 

him-elf,  so  that  we  cannot  perceive  him. 

God   is    incomprehensih!  ro   principal 

resp'  :iis  nature,  and  in  tin-  ways  of  his 

modes   of  h 
and  i 


14  GOD  INCOMPREHENSIBLE. 

He  is  invisible,  and  on  that  account  incom- 
prehensible. No  man  hath  seen  God  at  any 
time,  nor  can  see  him  ;  it  is  not  given  to  us  to 
look  upon  his  face  and  live.  We  know  that 
he  must  be  about  us,  wherever  we  are  ;  but 
that  he  is  so,  is  a  deduction  of  reason,  and  not 
an  intimation  of  sense.  Whatever  is  invisible 
must  be  unknown  in  all  those  respects  in  which 
sight  contributes  to  knowledge.  Definiteness 
at  least  is  wanting  to  our  perceptions.  Form 
is  absent,  and  there  is  no  ground  for  experi- 
ment or  investigation.  In  another  state  of 
being,  it  is  possible  that  Deity  may  be  per- 
ceived without  being  seen,  but  in  this  mortal 
life  the  intervention  of  the  senses  is  necessary 
to  the  satisfaction  of  our  inquiries  ;  and  that 
of  which  they  can  take  no  cognizance  is  al- 
ways, to  a  certain  extent,  incomprehensible,  if 
it  be  of  the  nature  of  substantial  existence. 

God  is  incomprehensible,  secondly,  because 
he  is  eternal;  and  of  eternity  itself  we  can 
form  no  adequate  conception.  That  this  is  an 
attribute  of  Deity  is  a  plain  conclusion  of  rea- 
son ;  and  yet,  that  which  our  reason  tells  us 
must  be,  is  not  in  itself  to  be  comprehended 
by  reason.  It  must  be  that  everything  which 
does  or  ever  did  exist  should  be  brought  into 
existence  by  some  cause  ;  and  it  must  be  that 
the  cause  of  everything  else  is  itself  uncaused, 
independent,  without  beginning,  and  without 


GOD  <BLE.  15 

end.      What    thoughts    are    these!      They  can 

died  thoughts, —  they  are  without 

.  like  chaos, —  they  call   tor  the 

broodmi:  in-piration   of  tin1  Creator  himself,  in 

e\alt«-d  stair  ot'  our  now 

.    to    reduce    tin-in    into  order  and 

ess,  and  pronounce  over  them  the  in- 

•  be  li^ht.      And 

eouhl  r.  in  to 

that  tin  v  HtS  a  time,  --o  hack  as 

far  as   you  will,   before  which   there  was  no 

.  i<,   I  will   not    -ay   inenn<vivaUe,  hut    un- 

reasonal!  L     There  HUM  hi 

:    and 
time    mu>t    have    l.ccii    :m    rternity  : 

al  with  that  unimaginable  el  inust 

IMV  n    ; 
Cai;^  J,  ininiortal,  in\  i-51)lf  (i.. 

Goil 

To    •  .MI    aliMirdily,    tlie 

:ced   to    t 

in   that 
which    i>   in«-  :i>ihl«'.      Truly,  1 

:;nm   th«"  ^ran-h   ••{'  our  >low  and  par- 

cannot  se*'  him. 

Again  ;  God  is  ine«»mj»n-lh'!i>ihl.  lie 

is  on  He  fill  •«•,  as 

U  all   time  ;   inhahits   both  immciiMty  and 
less  and   boundless.     Equally 
!iroughout  his  vast  dominions,  he  1, 


16  GOD   INCOMPREHENSIBLE. 

and  reigns,  absolute  and  unapproachable.  In 
the  calm  silence  of  a  starry  night,  we  look  up 
to  the  myriads  of  worlds  which  adore  God  in 
their  brightness  ;  we  calculate  with  time  and 
pains  the  distance  of  one  of  these  from  the 
spot  on  which  we  stand,  and  the  result  seems 
like  a  fable,  and  overwhelms  us  with  astonish- 
ment. By  artificial  aids  to  our  sight,  new 
sparkles  of  heavenly  fire  emerge  into  the 
field  of  vision,  as  distant  from  those  we  last 
saw  as  they  from  us.  We  borrow  aug- 
mented assistance,  and  dim  and  struggling 
spots  of  light  appear,  —  worlds,  doubtless,  and 
systems  of  worlds,  but  remote  from  us  beyond 
the  power  of  science  to  compute  their  remote- 
ness, far  away  in  the  unknown  deep,  with  their 
own  fair  brotherhood  around  them.  Yet  what 
is  this  ?  What  is  this  incalculable  reach  of 
nature's  trebled  vision,  but  a  glimpse  into  the 
thin  suburbs  of  creation ;  an  uncertain  and  un- 
satisfactory glance  upon  the  sentinels  and  out- 
posts merely  of  that  host  of  heaven  and  army 
of  God  which  stretch  their  numberless  ranks 
beyond?  And  there,  too,  in  the  midst,  all 
around,  is  God,  to  uphold  what  he  has  cre- 
ated, to  regulate  what  he  has  ordained.  And 
how  can  we  perceive,  how  can  we  know  the 
Maker,  when  we  see  but  a  small  fragment  only 
of  the  works,  throughout  the  whole  of  which 
he  dwells  invisible  ? 


GOD  /.\'r,>.}/ri:/:!/i:.\*/BLE.  17 

Neither  are  <>ur  id«-a<  capahlo  of  rUino-  to 
tin*  Mimmits  of  (Jod's  power  and  wisdom. 
We  know  that  these  inu-t  In-  as  infinite 
as  tlh'  universe  ;  that  they  must  he  equal  to 
•mand  which  has  been  or  may  be 
made  on  their  exertion,  hy  houndless  s] 
and  time,  and  a  varied  and  mighty 

•he    -aine    Hand    \vhieli    hol.N 
and    balances  all  worlds   should    also  o-i\ 
•lumage,   and   every  Ma«l 
grass  its  hiddm  t.-xture,  and  every  insect  its 
invi-ihly    minute    and   yet   p«-  Miomy ; 

and    how    the    same    Mind    which    orders    the 

il   regulates 

sons  and  commands  the  liiditnin^s  and  weighs 
the  i  •    atmosphere,  should  aNo 

A-  \\hich    i'alls   to  the   ground, 
and  numb  IT  all  the  hair-  of  our  h--  inc- 

thini:  which  we  may  di-tantly  admire,  and  yet 

!i  in  vain.     It  i-  knowledge 

us  and  we  cannot  attain  unto  it. 

us  we  see  it  foil  a   from   what  we 

aid    to  !  '         .  and    what    in   a  lim- 

:   ire  do  know,  that    he    i-    not 

to  I)-  i    with    h  -mot 

him ;   that    h«-    i-  incomprehensible. 

.  .t    h.-    ii  that   the   forego- 

mere  speculations.     They  are 
truly,  but  not   mere    or   use 

iirlp   to   induce  us  to  ' 
2 


18  GOD  INCOMPREHENSIBLE. 

before  the  Supreme  Spirit  with  a  reverential 
awe,  and  to  abase  our  own  spirits  into  their 
humble  and  proper  domains.  For  at  the  same 
time  that  the  majesty  and  greatness  of  God 
are  set  forth  by  the  incomprehensibleness  of 
his  nature,  the  weakness  of  our  own  nature  is 
manifested,  which  is  unable  to  comprehend  him. 
But  though  we  have  attended  to  the  mys- 
teries of  God's  existence,  we  have  not  yet 
spoken  of  the  wonders  of  his  ways  and  the 
dispensations  of  his  providence.  Here,  too, 
he  is  incomprehensible.  We  stand  and  con- 
template the  only  world  of  whose  affairs  we 
have  any  knowledge,  a  world  in  which  evil  is 
mixed  in  large  proportions  with  good,  and  we 
are  prompted  to  ask  why  this  is  so.  Why 
are  the  resistless  elements  convulsed  out  of 
their  peaceful  duties  into  angry  and  fearful 
contention  ?  Or,  if  they  must  sometimes 
breathe  their  energies  in  battle,  why  must 
earth  be  desolated,  and  earth's  inhabitants  be 
mournfully  swept  away  in  the  struggle  ?  And, 
far  worse  than  any  physical  evil  or  disorder, 
why  is  sin  permitted  to  enter  the  bowers  of 
innocence  and  blight  its  blossoms ;  to  exercise 
dominion  over  the  soul  of  man,  and  often  to 
reduce  it  into  hopeless  slavery  ?  We  see  the 
proud  sinner  triumph  ;  we  see  the  righteous 
man  distressed.  We  are  made  to  know  that, 
from  the  first  instant  of  its  being,  human  flesh 


I1.' 

weeping  lin'r  "t  unnumbered  ills.  Dis- 
eases lay  wait i nir  in  disregarded  ambush,  and 
rush  "lit  upon  us  \\ith  dratht'ul  >tiviii:tli.  The 
grass  can  hardly  grow  over  a  domestic  t* 

;it   is  broken  up  to  admit  a  new 

is  all.        i 

gle,  the  im«-,,nn.vt.-d,  the  apparently  useless, 
for  none  and  tor  \\  1,-m  no  one  caret, 
on  into  shaking  age  and  a  second  child- 
hood ;    \\hih'    thr  v,,n,  uho  |,y  his   manly  • 
tions  plarrd  himself  as  a  stall*  in  th-  h.-nnU  of 
his    pari'i  >tnu-k     t'ruin    undrr 

thr  pa:  Dg   t'ainily 

.  advice,  instruction,  sym- 
path  .  »vrd    |,y  a  dark,  a  MvmmiJy  : 

MI  th<-ir 

is  are  left  to  wander  on  alone  through  the 
uncertain  i-riim*--  ..t'  the  \\orl<{. 

\\'e   are   troubh  d    in    our   hearts   at    th  -sc 

:s,  and  say  that  they  are  obscun    and  un- 

I  d<>    nut    understand 

th.-in.      llnw    si  understand    them  ? 

these  seeming  disorders  sometimes  , 
duct*  •    good  cann<>;  >\.  and    th--n 

:i«'ir  heavenly  piirposes  j  but  why 
is  it  i  d,  «.r  wi  1  we  be  tr«-ir 

in    many  cases  we  iprehend 

them,   while  we   so    l'--M\    and    im 

I    Being   >vh<>    di!---<-:-     tli 
11  we  can  se< 


20  GOD   INCOMPREHENSIBLE. 

government  spread  out  plainly  before  us  ;  when 
we  are  acquainted  with  all  that  is  done  in  each 
orb  of  creation,  and  with  all  the  connections 
between  each  other  orb  and  our  own  ;  when 
all  space  unrolls  itself  like  a  scroll  to  our  vis- 
ion ;  when  the  acts  of  time  past  and  the  se- 
crets of  time  to  come  are  made  present  to  our 
watching  mind ;  when  we  can  behold  the  end 
from  the  beginning,  and  trace  all  the  relations 
and  dependencies  between  the  beginning  and 
the  end  ;  when  we  can  do  this,  or  but  a  part 
of  this,  then  shall  we  be  fitted  to  perceive  how 
light  springs  up  from  darkness,  and  order  from 
confusion,  and  good  from  ill ;  how  imperfection 
ministers  to  perfection,  accident  to  certainty, 
weakness  to  greatness,  and  temporal  sorrow 
to  everlasting  bliss; — but  till  then,  let  us  be 
humble  in  our  ignorance  and  confiding  in  our 
devotion ;  let  us  be  satisfied  that  he  who  knows 
all  things  completely  will  order  all  things 
wisely ;  and  that  we  who  cannot  comprehend 
his  ways  ought  not  to  elevate  our  blindness 
into  the  judgment-seat  over  them. 

Let  us  only  confine  ourselves  to  ourselves. 
Let  us  consider  how  little  we  know  of  our  own 
structure  and  composition  ;  how  baffled  we  are 
in  our  endeavors  to  unravel  the  delicate  web 
of  thought ;  how  small  our  authority  is  over 
our  condition ;  how  ignorant  we  are  of  our  lot, 
and  how  uncertain  of  our  life,  and  how  circuin- 


COD  21 

scribed   in    <>ur    mortal    COUH 

•lie   Mak  -  us,  who  aiv 

•lioroughly  tlian  the  ]  < 
ssel  which  he  turns  off  1 

who-  :hal   \\  ith   all    his 

worlds,    lie    is  equally  a* 
well  acquainted  as  In-  i-  \\ith  u<.      Then  1 
agai  t  to  go  through  the  marvt 

ii,  and   HLr:»m   try  t.. 
a  God  who  sees  it  all,  at  every  mo- 
ot' hi-  •  .  and 

gOVt-  !   in  the   nhi.juity  an«l   j.lmitnde  of 

his  wis^lom,  and  we  shall  be  com  inrcd  how 

quate  we  are*  to  enter  Curthrr  than   h«- 

may  give  us  tin-  muKmnded abyit 

1  •      i«;hts  are  not 

.thrr  are  our  ways  his  ways; 

is  are  higher  than  tin-  «  aith, 

so  are  his  wa;  IT  than  our  ways,  and  his 

thoughts  thaii   onr   thoughts."      Our  mind 

atiou    «,t'  tin-    A'  hut 

shall  tli.-y  lift  themselves  up  t..  <-..JH.  with 
exhaust  less  source  which  in  -j»i  red  •  ^iiall 

their  di 

;-tion,    and     |«r«  trnd     to    scan    aright      the 
stores  and  treasures  of  their  great  O 

M  Benson*!  bHghtert  «pnrk, 
Thoaph  V  vnjn  would  try 

To  tmce  thr  coameli,  Inflnite  nnd  diirk ; 
And  thought  u  lost  ere  thought  can  tour  to  high/' 


22  GOD  INCOMPREHENSIBLE. 

But  here  we  again  go  back,  and  find  in  what 
amazes  and  awes  our  souls  their  chief  comfort 
and  consolation.  It  is  because  God  is  so  great 
that  we  cannot  comprehend  him  ;  and  yet  if 
he  were  not  so  great,  we  could  not  rely  on 
him  with  that  security  of  trust  which  is  our 
reasonable  tribute  to  perfection.  Our  ignorance 
here  becomes,  in  a  high  and  important  sense, 
our  bliss.  If  it  were  so,  that,  with  our  present 
constitution  and  powers,  born  of  the  dust,  and 
doomed  to  return  to  the  dust  again,  we  could 
nevertheless  understand  fully  the  nature  of  the 
Supreme,  and  make  ourselves  masters  of  his 
will,  would  not  the  circumstance  argue  his 
finiteness  and  imperfection,  and  diminish  both 
our  veneration  and  our  confidence  ?  But  with 
respect  to  the  eternal,  all-seeing,  and  all-per- 
vading Deity,  this  cannot  be  so.  We  cannot 
comprehend  him.  To  know  this,  is  to  know 
enough  ;  for  the  very  reason  why  we  know  no 
more  is  the  reason  why  our  dependence  should 
be  absolute  and  fearless.  Weakness  cannot 
comprehend  Omnipotence,  but  it  can  lean  upon 
it  securely  ;  the  finite  cannot  measure  the  In- 
finite, but  it  can  resign  itself  cheerfully  and 
unreservedly  to  its  disposal.  Let  us  make, 
therefore,  a  wise  use  of  our  ignorance  ;  let  the 
cause  of  doubt  be  the  origin  of  confidence,  and 
confusion  and  amazement  subside  into  submis- 
sion and  quietness. 


GOD  :i  11KNS1BLE. 

Yet  i:  ;uv  permitted  to  know,  tor  our 

lit,   in    the    (io-j.el    of   Christ;  to 

know  that    not   eternal  wi-doni   al«>ne,  hut  iuti- 

and   impartial  love  presides  over  the  uiii- 

liat  we  are  in   tin*  liands  of  a  Father, 

who,  with  more   than   an   earthly  parent's  teu- 

dernexx  :m.j    solicitude,    j.n.\  i  be  ^ants 

and  -    to   tlie    eiirs   of  all    his   children. 

It    i-  to    us,   moreover,   that  as  our 

knouKdice  so  our  very  being  also  i-  in  its  in- 

:iat    in    a    future    state    of   hei-i^    our 

knowledge  wiD  be  active  and  progi  .  new 

to  it  ieh  whieh  here  ha-  Deemed 

dark    will  th-  i-lain  ;    that  (  iod  will 

manit'e-t  himself  more  fully  to  our  compiv: 

Og  i ut el- 
ver glowing   and    inereasiiii:   in  the 
presence  of  ( •  hich 

ri^ht  liand. 

OCTOUKU  1,  1826. 


SERMON  III. 


GOD  ALL-POWERFUL. 

God  hath  spoken  once:  twice  have  I  heard  this;  that  power 
belongeth  unto  God.  —  Psalm  Ixii.  11. 

WHEN  the  mind  goes  forth  amidst  the  works 
of  nature  and  the  broad  ranges  of  the  universe, 
the  first  impression  which  it  receives  is  that  of 
power.  Things  are  presented  to  it  in  grand 
masses,  and  it  is  not  till  after  some  time  that  it 
contracts  itself  to  examine  them  in  detail. 
Everywhere  about  us  there  is  height,  and 
depth,  and  expanse,  and  grandeur,  and  ful- 
ness ;  and  of  all  these,  power  is  the  ever- 
present  and  ever-speaking  attribute.  The  sky 
with  its  all-enclosing  dome  ;  the  splendid  sun  ; 
the  glittering  company  of  stars  ;  the  sweeping 
clouds  ;  the  broad-based,  solemn  mountains  ; 
the  far  off  horizon  ;  the  wide,  resounding  sea, 
wear  the  constant  expression  of  power.  All 
the  most  common  and  apparent  things,  which 
the  most  directly  and  incessantly  press  upon 


GOD  ALL-POWERFUL.  25 

•ire   tlu»   mo-t    vast   and   powerful. 
Besi  cts  already  mentioned,    there 

which    is    boundless,  and  time  which 
i>    inc.  —  :mt  lie--,    and    the    air    which 

wraps  up  the  globe  of  the  world.  11  its 

inhahitants  and   contents,  all   proclaiming    tin- 
word  of  ;  lea  of  p< 

But  whose  power  is  it  ?  for  we  perceive  not 
only  power  but  designing  power.  Where  did 
it  come  from?  tor  N\  <>ok  on  t 

streams,  we  iinj1  their  too]   •  .      \Vlm 

can  go  out  in  the  hi;  time  of 

>d  raise  his  regards  to  the  spangled 
linn  with     the     knowledge    that    ea«-h 

point   of   light    there   is   a   ponderous    >v 

in    it-elf   and    in   its   relation,  to  the 
great    \\hole,    and    tl   .  them    which 

are  n  un  mo\inLr  with  a  vcl«.eitv  \\ 

ht,    and    yet    with   a    certainty 
of    revolution    which    can    he   calcnlat<  d    • 
second  ;    wh-  .  the    winds    are   abr 

making    the  ocean  to  rage  mightily,  ean 

tumult    from    the    shor.-,    c.MiM-ioiix    «,{'    his 
own   safety,  and   that   hounds  are  appointed  to 
ng  waves  which  they  :,ass; 

who  can  ohv 

out  their  showers  as  they  are  needed   upon  the 
grateful   earth  ;    who  is  as 

••mid    in    pnnetual    and    ;, 

—  wlio    can     ^ec    and     und'T- 


26  GOD  ALL-POWERFUL. 

stand  such  things,  and  refuse  entrance  to  the 
conviction  that  they  were  intended  ;  that  there 
is  a  purpose  at  work  in  them  and  over  them  ; 
that  these  operations  are  directed  by  some  in- 
telligent existence  ;  that  there  is  some  control- 
ling and  designing  being  to  whom  all  this 
power  belongs  ? 

"It  belongs  to  the  things  themselves,"  is  the 
discordant  cry  of  a  few,  and  happily  but  of  a 
few.  "  The  power  is  in  the  machine  itself. 
The  universe  is  god,  —  its  own  god.  Why  pre- 
tend to  look  further  than  you  can  see  ?  Use 
your  senses,  which  are  the  only  means  of  knowl- 
edge. Be  not  superstitious,  and  concern  not 
yourself  about  a  being  who  does  not  exist,  be- 
cause the  senses  do  not  apprehend  him."  Well, 
then,  I  will  use  my  senses,  since  that  is  the 
word.  I  will  go  to  them  obsequiously,  and 
implore  them  to  let  me  know  where  the  intelli- 
gence is  whose  designs  are  everywhere  around 
me.  They  can  tell  me  nothing.  I  look,  and 
I  see  nothing;  I  hearken,  and  I  hear  nothing  ; 
I  reach  forth  my  hands,  and  I  feel  nothing,  in 
the  whole  congregation  of  material  existences, 
which  appears  to  me  to  possess  mind  and  intel- 
ligence of  itself.  In  the  clods  beneath  me  I 
perceive  no  self-governing  wisdom  ;  in  the 
stars  above  me  I  perceive  no  spirit  of  order  ; 
in  the  waves  of  ocean  I  am  apprised  of  no 
ruling  mind.  I  see,  I  hear,  I  feel  nothing  in 


GOD 


matter,   like 

H    tin*   very  r 
believe  that  t 
sepn  .  and  superior  to  it. 

.    and    tlia 

of  01  I    .,:;;    C     tain,   and    that    i-,    that 

there    is    snmi'whrre   a    mind    : 
the  proofs  of  !i  are  too  plain  to  be  mis- 

taken ;   and 
as  I  am  requested  t<»  do,  and   rereive   : 

them   that   matter  can  ride  it 
,<-hiMon    from    this   M: 

- 
I    am    r  ruled.       I    will    not    he  SO 

supe  re,  as   to   believe    in   the 

Of    an    Bflint 

intelligently.       I    am    idl 
to  be  crvdnlon>.      I  will   not  be.      I  will   a 
hut  on  fair  proof.     Becai. 

show  me   no  vi>iUe,  I    intelli- 

gence. I  .shall  not  th'-r-'lore  believe  th:r 
no  ii  ••,  hnt  the  very  r.-\--r--,  t 

ic  ;  one  whom  the  senses  < 

one  wliMin  I  cannot  see,  nor   !  !,  ex- 

in  th«-  wi-r  and  l.'-autiful  order  of  th.»  nni- 

i    tin-    h 
who 

t    m  y  mind,  and    tin-  nit, 

;    my  n-ason.      In  tol- 


28  GOD  ALL-POWERFUL. 

lowing  my  senses,  therefore,  I  am  brought  to 
my  God  ;  because  they  show  me  design,  and 
cannot  show  me  the  designer.  Now  it  is  that 
the  dumb  works  of  nature  break  their  silence, 
and  utter  speech  of  their  Creator  and  of 
mine.  Now  it  is  that  the  mountains  echo 
to  the  sea,  and  earth  repeats  to  heaven,  the 
holy  name  of  Him  who  ordains  their  order 
and  rules  their  motions.  Now  it  is  that 
their  voice  becomes  the  voice  of  God  him- 
self, proclaiming  and  reiterating  his  divine 
supremacy.  "  God  hath  spoken  once  ;  twice 
have  I  heard  this ;  that  power  belongeth  unto 
God." 

But  it  is  not  in  the  surrounding  universe 
alone  that  the  believer  perceives  the  power  of 
God.  He  delights  to  trace  it  throughout  the 
course  of  his  own  being,  and  in  all  that  con- 
cerns his  own  government  and  welfare  and  the 
lives  and  welfare  of  his  brethren. 

I.  He  sees  this  power,  in  the  first  place,  in 
his  life.  What  but  almighty  power  brought 
him  into  existence  ?  What  but  almighty 
power  is  equal  to  the  creation  of  a  living 
soul  ?  What  but  the  breath  of  the  Original 
Spirit  could  breathe  into  us,  or  anything,  the 
breath  of  life.  We  are  used  to  go  about  care- 
lessly, and  eat  and  drink,  and  pursue  our  busi- 
ness or  pleasure,  and  hold  converse  with  our 
friends  and  the  world,  without  reflecting  on 


GOD  ALL-POWER! 


•  wer  which   hrouirlit    u<  ] 
and  cause.  1  our  pulses  to  beat,  and  our  a 

1   our   minds   to  enter  mi  the 
wonderful   train   of  their   operations.      \\\ 
we  e  •  •  -.  ith  a  pi  i^ree 

ion,  we    shall    be  with    an 

•wer  wliich  gave  us  lite,  and  which 
is  the  origin  of  all  our  own  powers.  What 
powe  compare  with  this  ot'  e- 

t  ini^ht  is  there,  but  that  of  God,  which 
can  set  i  «   tlie   living  economy  of  one 

human  being?     And  here  we  are,  nn 
in  tli.   midst  of  millions  and   millions  of  bi 

who  have  all  received  life  from  the  same 

almi^htv    and    ever-«piiekeiiini:    •  uid- 

ice  among  the  generations  which 

have   been   flowing  down  from    the    first    hu- 

man   family,    and    are    flowing    on     into     the 

What    an    exhi- 

n  of  power  is  this  vast  sum  of  life,  ex- 
isting, as  it  does,  independently  of  th<^,    who 
;    offered   to  us,  forced   upon   us,  to  say 
SO   reverently,     without     an    exertion    <>r 
•A  n. 

'iming,  the  gift,  the  original  Jm- 
puK"  of  .,f  divine  po 

so  is  -'nuance.     How  a:  for- 

ward, through  the  several  stages  of  Our  '"'ing, 
on  to  its  final  goal  !      The  )„ 
1  grows,  to  a  ( 


SO  GOD  ALL-POWERFUL. 

and  then  we  wear  out  and  decay,  —  and  all 
this  by  no  effort  or  participation  of  our  own  ;  for 
who  can  add  a  cubit  to  his  stature,  or  who  can 
take  one  away  ?  We  rise  up  the  hill,  and  the 
mightiest  among  us  cannot  accelerate  his  as- 
cent ;  and  then  we  turn  and  descend  into  the 
vale,  and  the  mightiest  among  us  cannot  retard 
his  going  down.  A  conqueror  may,  if  God 
permit  him,  overrun  kingdoms  and  destroy 
cities,  or  build  them  up,  and  he  may  compel 
his  fellow-men  to  lay  their  heads  in  humble 
vassalage  upon  his  footstool,  but  yet  he  cannot 
keep  himself  from  growing  old.  We  are  very 
proud  sometimes  ;  and  we  talk  boastfully  of 
what  we  have  done  and  what  we  intend  to  do  ; 
but  when  gray  hairs  are  scattered  over  our 
foreheads,  we  cannot  bring  the  youthful  color 
to  their  roots  again  ;  and  when  the  mists  of 
age  begin  to  fall  over  the  delicate  orbs  of  sight, 
we  find  that  with  all  our  strength  we  cannot 
brush  those  little  mists  away.  Forward  and 
upward,  and  still  forward,  but  downward,  we 
are  borne  along,  and  we  should  strive  as  fruit- 
lessly to  resist  the  hand  which  impels  us  as  to 
check  the  flowing  or  hinder  the  ebbing  tides. 

Also  in  the  events  of  our  lives,  as  well  as  in 
their  continuance,  we  acknowledge  a  power  in 
operation  which  is  far  greater  than  our  own, 
and  which  can  only  belong  to  the  Supreme 
Disposer.  Liberty  we  have,  indeed,  and 


ruL. 

Aitli,   lur  nnot 

at    our    liberty  and  Ofl 
have  their   1::  i  which    : 

:o  go.     Else  wh\ 

1   in 

'  iiu\\  n  in  on: 

•A  liy  i>  that  \\hich   is  done  against  our  in- 
rts  so  ot;  u>  than 

i'l  have  been  which 

\Vheiv  an-  the  hopes  which 
had  been  carefully  building  nj)  for  tiir  habita- 
i  Has  not   th«    \\  ind  of 

tin-  I  !o\\n  tliem  away 

are   not  dwcllim:;    (.it* -n    |>r«'  r  us,   of 

'aN  and  a  more  c\c«-llcnt    IHM 
•  ii   of  which  rontrilmtrd 

il»or  in»r   th'»ULrli:          \  >  \<A\t 

:iT  that  \vr   an-    1  as    litih-  car 

hd|»    trrlinLr    tiiat    oiu-     fiv.-dom     i  ntly 

;    contmllcd    and    din-cf-d    l.y   one 
i-nlc.      N.ir  can 
:Siat    the   jio\v«-r  \vhicli  \\  c 

most  justly   call  our  at  its  origin,  de- 

:  ;   and  that  we  can   do   nothing  which  tlu- 
Aliui^lity  does  not  enable  us  to  < 
iniii,  original  rnd-.\'.  i 

of  our  alnlity.      We  shall  be  disposed,  in 
to  confess  and  ndnn    the   presence   oi 
power  in  all  that    bctall.s   us;   in    ti  nin^ 

•n  strength  and  \\ 


32  GOD  ALL-POWERFUL. 

ness,  in  growth  and  decay,  in  circumstances 
prosperous  or  adverse,  in  rejoicing  and  mourn- 
ing, in  what  is  given  and  what  is  denied  and 
what  is  taken  away,  in  what  we  are  permitted 
and  assisted  to  do  and  what  we  are  held  from 
doing.  In  every  condition,  and  under  every 
posture  of  affairs,  we  shall  perceive  the  same 
unvarying  superintendence,  and  be  ready  to 
say  with  the  Psalmist,  "  God  hath  spoken  once ; 
twice  have  I  heard  this  ;  that  power  belongeth 
unto  God." 

II.  In  yet  another  way  connected  with  our 
own  being,  do  we  hear  the  declaration  of  the 
text.  We  hear  it  in  the  mysterious  accents  of 
life  ;  we  hear  it,  too,  in  the  no  less  mysterious, 
and  to  many  the  very  fearful  event  of  death. 
Here  again  is  power  ;  the  power  which  sus- 
pends the  motions  which  it  caused,  which  dis- 
solves the  complicated  workmanship  which  it 
organized,  which  chills  the  warm  functions  of 
vitality,  and  says  to  its  creatures  whom  it 
formed  of  the  dust,  "  Return,  ye  children  of 
men  !  "  We  are  not  apt  to  be  much  impressed 
with  the  majesty  of  death,  because  it  is  of  such 
common  occurrence  ;  but  the  truth  is  that  dis- 
solution is  as  wonderful  as  creation.  We  call 
it  natural,  because  it  constantly  takes  place  ; 
but  the  power  which  seals  up  the  avenues  of 
sense,  sends  away  the  speech,  the  feeling,  and 
the  thoughts  from  their  accustomed  tenement, 


ru/~  33 

and  up  a  br  pro- 

a  few  grains  of  ti 

is  a  mighty   :  which  can  • 

1   '       ..          II  M-t- 

'  ' 

•;d   protract  their  term  »<i 
hut   •  ii    vain  ;  and,  as  if  to  prove 

r   in   their  own  liands 
for  a  moment,  the  ]•«.  -ipon 

i  at   every  i:  n    tin-   \ 

birth  on  to  t! 

I  Eon  mrivei  i  •!  Ii  *hU  power  ' 
eration    d  occupies   the  w 

r  away.     A  few  names,  a  few 

deeds,  a  few  monuments  r. main  in  each,  and 
>!<>  A  n  t..  its  successors  like  dreams  of  a 
past  ni^l 

breath   nt'  life,  are  clean  away.     It   it 

was  not  for  tlu*  divin.     power  of  life,  which 
than   supplies  the   vacancies   occasioned 
of  death,   how  silent   the 
eartli  would  be  in  a  little  while!     One  by  one 
W6  should  lie  down  a:  ;d  the  s« 

imanity  would  ^:  •  and  more  : 

•  •y  would  be  all  hn»hed,  and  imth- 

e  sighing 

be  winds    and    the  \v. 

solitary  sea.     Is  imt 

iinpn-s.si 

lets,  because  Mirh   <t  1  by 

8 


34  GOD  ALL-POWERFUL. 

a  power  of  creation  and  animation,  which 
keeps  the  world  full  and  active,  and  resound- 
ing with  the  articulate  voices  of  men  ?  Truly 
the  power  of  death  is  great  and  awful,  and  it 
belongs  only  unto  God. 

III.  And  terrible  and  oppressive  would  the 
thought  of  that  power  be,  if  we  were  not  as- 
sured, both  by  the  character  of  the  Almighty, 
and  his  revealed  word  in  the  Gospel  of  Christ, 
that,  as  easily  and  as  surely  as  he  exercises  the 
power  of  life  and  death,  so  easily  and  so  surely 
will  he  put  forth  the  power  of  reanimation. 
"  Why  should  it  be  thought  a  thing  incredible 
with  you,"  said  Paul  to  Agrippa,  "  that  God 
should  raise  the  dead  ?  "  It  is  not  incredible 
at  all,  that  he  who  causes  us  to  live  and 
causes  us  to  die  should  also  cause  us  to  live 
again.  The  power  of  restoring  life  is  not  even 
wonderful  when  compared  with  the  power  of 
giving  it,  and  the  power  of  taking  it  away,  and 
the  other  exertions  of  the  power  of  God. 
But  as  they  are  wonderful,  so  also  is  this  ;  and 
it  appears  to  us  more  wonderful  because  it  is 
not,  like  those  others,  the  subject  of  our  expe- 
rience. And  those  others  are  the  subjects  of 
our  experience  only  as  we  see  them  and  are 
affected  by  them,  and  not  as  if  we  knew  their 
essence  or  were  acquainted  with  their  modes 
of  interior  operation.  If  we  will  abstract  our- 
selves for  a  while  from  the  passing  scene  ;  if 


35 

we  will  cause  our  minds  to  stand  ap.-i 

1  of  things  in   which   they   familiarly 
:iahitually  move,  so   that,   instead  of  being 
born-  -.Mill  tin-in  unthinkingly,  they  may, 

as  spectators,  look  regardfhllj  upon  ti. 
seriously  contemplate  them  ;  —  and  if  we  will 
C6M6  for  a  while  to   talk   of  natni    . 
<»n  thr  u-. -neirs  and  existences  which  are  al 
us  as  really  i  re's  God,  —  • 

1    changes  of  the   a  linos- 
.,   the  wing  of  an  in- 
sect, the   leaf  of  a   plant, —  ev.-ryihini:   "ill 
teem  to  u-,  and  truly,  to  demand  divine  power, 
.i   di\ine   iny-t.-i'v,  as        11  as  does 
thr  iiniu  f  tiie    soul.       i 

whic  nis  us  more  deeply  than  any  <»• 

can,  and  is  a  subject  which  i>  r.'in..\-  1 

the  cognizance  of  our  senses  and  our  < 

and  daily  habits;  and  then!  [  «  ially 

awes  and  excites  the  mind   \\hieh   is  hrought 

..uiii'.n  with  it.      That  it  does  awe  and 

ind   is,   how  <>of   that 

in    it>«df  than    many  of 

those  things  concerning  which  we  never  won- 
when    we    think    UJMHI     th«  m    in- 

i.in's  imniortality  is  to  be  sought 

;he  character  of  <  • 
in,  in--  promises  and  facts  of 


30  GOD  ALI^POWERFUL. 

the  gospel,  and  the  evidences  of  that  gospel's 
truth.  In  these  we  are  to  seek  assurances  — 
and  if  we  seek  in  a  right  spirit  we  shall  find 
them  —  that  God  will  exercise  the  power  of 
reanimating  or  continuing  the  life  of  the  hu- 
man soul.  That  he  can  exercise  it,  that  it  is 
not  for  his  hand  an  extraordinary  power,  seems 
to  be  unquestionable  ;  for  he  who  can  direct 
the  least  of  those  agencies  which  we  see  about 
us,  can  prevent  the  human  soul  from  sharing 
in  the  death  of  the  body,  or  confer  life,  with 
all  its  attributes,  on  the  smallest  particles  of  a 
former  organization. 

Once,  twice,  have  we  heard  the  solemn  as- 
severation, that  power  belongeth  unto  God. 
There  are  also  other  words  succeeding,  which 
are  full  of  encouragement,  motive,  and  con- 
solation. "  And  also  unto  thee,  O  Lord,  be- 
longeth mercy,  for  thou  renderest  unto  every 
man  according  to  his  work."  Infinite  power 
and  infinite  mercy  are  lodged  in  the  same 
hands,  never  to  be  divided,  never  to  be  al- 
ienated. O  then  that  we  may  so  order  our 
works  and  ways  before  him  that  we  may 
render  ourselves  fit  objects  of  his  rnercy,  and 
feel  hope  and  confidence,  instead  of  fear, 
when  we  contemplate  his  power  ;  —  that  same 
hope  and  confidence  which  inspired  the  breast 
of  the  apostle,  when  he  said,  "  I  am  persuaded 
that  neither  death  nor  life,  nor  angels,  nor  prin- 


GOD  ALL-POWERFUL. 

were,  nor  things  present,  nor 

tiling-  t«>  culm',  \vill   rvi-r  be  able  to  sepa 
me  ii-Min   tlu-   love  of  God,  which   is  in  Christ 
;r  Lord." 

OCTOBER  26,  1889. 


SERMON  IV. 

GOD   THE  GUARDIAN  OF   SOULS. 

Behold,  all  souls  are  mine.  —  Ezek.  xviii.  4. 

THE  Supreme  Spirit  speaks  of  the  spirits 
which  he  has  created.  The  Maker  declares 
himself  concerning  the  intelligent  beings  whom 
he  has  made.  He  claims  his  right  in  them, 
and  over  them,  as  his  own.  He  is  anxious  to 
gain  their  attention  to  this  claim  ;  not  that  it 
can  be  resisted,  but  because  it  is  full  of  the  most 
solemn  conclusions,  and  he  would  have  it  felt 
and  pondered,  and  not  neglected.  Therefore 
he  calls  to  us,  that  our  ears  may  be  opened  and 
our  hearts  awakened.  He  says,  "  Behold  !  "  — 
"Behold!"  says  the  Almighty  Father  to  his 
children,  "  all  souls  are  mine." 

This  voice  of  God  in  revelation  is  not  the 
only  one  by  which  his  claim  to  our  souls  is 
preferred.  Our  own  convictions,  when  we 
contemplate  the  vast  and  momentous  subject, 
confirm  in  deep  solemnity  the  revealed  word, 
and  show  to  us  with  irresistible  proof,  that  we 


G0l>  Tin:  <;r.\Rhi.\x  OF  SOULS.  39 

belong  not  to  ourselves,  but  to  one  who  made 

us,  :t  and    knows    us. 

nets,  tlu»  sense  of 

our   own    iirn«'ranc.',  has  each  a  voice  which 
us  of  an  .i|>  above  us.     And  con- 

soioosness,  which  makes  known  to  us  the  power 
and  ii  we   hav.-,  marks   ont   to   us 

the  bounds  witiiin  which  that  power  and  lib- 
are  confined,  and  intimates  to  u>.  l.y  some 
of  the   ii.  signs  of  our  being  and 

cond  it  we  are  on 

a  will    which   w<  ,   and  on  de- 

signs  ai  H    wiiich    we    cannot 

."n   his  thou-liN   inward,  and 

thin!.  within    him 

.       '    him    in  i  the  soul 

!i  he  calls   his  own;  and    l<'t    him   say  1\QW 

far  v  \  -»wn   in  v,,nie  re- 

spects,   but    in    no   respect    which    i:n 

ie  and  absolute  posse^i-m.     It    i>  hi> 

to  vindicate  agai  nmln.-  inllih-n.-r   and 

authority  of  all  human  beings  and  all  earthly 

tilings.        It    is    1  :ile- 

i  the  entrance  of  sin;  to 

ivate  and  impiovr  \)\  the  use  of  privileges 

and  th<-  -os  ;  to  bring 

''Ml    to    tl. 

I  ith    his    j.nrposes,  and   in 
tion    of    his  u^h 


40  GOD    THE  GUARDIAN   OF  SOULS. 

the  mercy  and  help  of  God,  for  its  happy  re- 
ception into  the  heavenly  world  which  is  prom- 
ised. In  these  respects,  and  they  are  impor- 
tant ones,  his  soul  belongs  to  himself.  But 
these  imply  no  independent  authority,  no  self- 
derived  and  original  dominion.  They  imply 
a  trust  only,  to  be  fulfilled  or  neglected,  to 
be  used  or  abused.  The  power  and  the  liberty 
go  no  further.  The  soul  of  that  man  is  his 
own  in  trust.  He  holds,  that  is  to  say,  himself 
in  trust,  and  by  no  power  of  his  own.  He 
feels  that  his  whole  being  is  dependent  on  some 
other  being,  which  being  can  only  be  the  Self- 
Existent.  He  feels  that  the  possession  of  him- 
self is  not  in  himself;  that  he  is  not  his  own, 
but  God's. 

He  communes  with  himself  thus  :  What  am 
I  ?  What  is  this  thinking,  sentient,  active  prin- 
ciple or  being  which  is  my  soul  —  myself? 
What  is  its  nature  ?  What  its  composition  ? 
How  was  it  made  ?  How  did  it  begin  to  be  ? 
I  know  that  I  am.  I  am  conscious  that  my 
soul  lives.  But  what  is  my  soul,  and  how  does 
it  live  ?  This  I  know  not,  and  am  conscious 
that  I  cannot  know.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  my 
soul  existed  in  some  dark  and  impenetrable 
depth,  showing  itself  faintly,  as  it  were,  by  a 
few  outward  signs  upon  the  surface  of  its 
dwelling-place,  but  deeper  than  this  wrapt  up 
from  even  its  own  searchings.  I  am  not  in- 


GOI  V   OF  SOt  11 

!       .in    c:\ll    ii]>    *  .1    e;m 

infinite 
n    Inp.j  * 
joy  v  ,\n  and  at'.ir.      M\   --nl  is 

:idrous  e  .  and  worthy  to  he  kn 

and  must  be   known:  — hut    I    kn«»w    it    n«»t  ; 
it  kin»w>  not  it>elf.      H<»w  can   I   IK*  tin-  abso- 

whieh     I    do   not    l.n 
creating  an 
and  owns  me.     My  soul  is  his.     All  souls  are 

And  I  am  •  m  OM  may  say, 

that  this  my  ign<  ,   which   h:»j»pi 

nd   :m 
ignorance  pecn I i;t  I    ;mi  confi 

that  it  is  common  to  all  in--:..      Lei  tl 

:    tfl   innrli,   :m, |   tlir   tV«-.-th'mk»T   thijik   as 
is  often    the-   same   thiiii:  ^ill» 

will,  yet  th' 

ranee  of  the*  is  a 

truth    which   tlirv  cMim«>t    il«-ny.       v  <  MH 

they  deny  that   tlu-y  are,  and  that   they  think. 
Consciousness  obi i-'1-  tli-ni  to  r<>n!«—  i 
•  souls  ;  but  with   all   tli«-ir   pf 

• 
• 
then  tnlk    ns    they    ],! 

the      J.    • 

of    One    who     ni.<  -n     and     owns     tl'in, 

who    knows  them   and    i  lem,     Their 


42      GOD  THE  GUARDIAN  OF  SOULS. 

ignorance  cannot  always  make  them  bold 
and  Heaven-defying.  It  must  sometimes  lead 
them,  as  mine  leads  me,  to  the  feet  of  Him 
who  knows  us,  and  to  whom  therefore  we 
must  belong. 

This  soul  of  mine  !  I  cannot  express  my 
sense  of  the  mysteriousness  which  envelops 
it,  and  the  entire  dependence  in  which  it  hangs 
every  moment  on  its  Creator.  Is  it  of  its 
essence  and  mode  of  being  only  that  I  am 
ignorant  ?  What  do  I  know  of  its  course,  its 
path,  the  changes  of  its  condition,  the  varieties 
of  its  lot  ?  Do  I  know  with  any  precision 
what  motives  will  be  presented  to  it  at  any 
future  season  ?  Do  I  know  what  trials  await 
it  ?  what  joys  or  what  sorrows  are  in  store  for 
it  ?  what  voices  will  speak  to  it  ?  Can  I 
anoint  its  eyes,  so  that  it  shall  be  able  to  be- 
hold one  secret  of  coming  time  ?  Can  I  tell 
when  it  will  be  summoned  to  part  from  the 
body  ?  Have  I  the  least  power  over  its  very 
existence  ?  Were  the  sentence  of  dread  an- 
nihilation to  be  issued  against  it,  could  I 
do  the  least  thing  to  arrest  that  sentence  ? 
Could  I  say,  It  shall  not  die  ?  Or  have  I 
the  power  of  annihilation  over  it,  so  that  I 
can  say,  It  shall  not  live  ?  Who  is  so  vain, 
so  mad,  as  to  assert  that  he  possesses  either 
these  powers  ?  How  absolutely  we  belong  to 
God! 


v    OF  SOI  43 

Tli  '      The   more    I    think  of 

it,   the   le>s  seems  to  be  my  authority  over  it. 

A  larp    porti  06  while  hero  on 

-etl    in    that     iiiM-nit  .  tti   of 

it  be  deiiit  .1   that  the  soul  ever 

S  in  that   st:r  bio,  which   it 

•  body  sleeps.     Mybo.K  mu^t 

sleep.      !  M  depart  tn-m  ir.  it'  it  <li  : 

sleep.      I:    pow«1  must  be  refreshed  by  slum- 

.iin  1  <•»,  while  tlie  miml  continues  its  <•• 

B  powers  of  the  miml    IKS  so 
I    cami'.t   Iherefofi 

_:»•  which 

lly,  ami  for  a  large  portion  of 

my  m«.rt:il   I: 

ing,  .  1   what    ]«>\\  BT  h:.         I 

lays 
face 

with    thoNi-   frmn  wlmm    I    am   «li\  i«h-.l    1»\ 
the   worl  <S  or  by  the  grave. 

:ily  it  will    be   on 

mountains  <>r  in   jiathles*;   forest^,  <»r  in 
and  i  caves,  or  in 

able   scenes,    hoMin^    di  ami 

Ige    with  .vith 

shadowy  heings  for  whom  ;1, 

r  it   i>,  or  \N  1  _:,  as 

soon  as  I    a  i<l  is  re- 

8tor«  iiange,  —  a    <-hair 

»  its.-lf.      1    1, 


44  GOD    THE  GUARDIAN    OF  SOULS. 

goings.  I  often  understand  not  where  it  has 
been,  and  endeavor  in  vain  to  unravel  the 
ideas  which  have  occupied  it ;  and  often  I  am 
unable  to  tell  whether  it  has  or  has  not  been 
active  during  this  interval  of  sleep.  Memory 
presents  me  with  no  object  on  its  mirror. 
Consciousness  is  silent.  How  entirely  am  I 
out  of  my  own  power  in  sleep.  Who  holds 
me  during  those  misty  hours  ?  Watchman  of 
Israel  !  who  never  slumberest  nor  sleepest,  thou 
compassest  my  path  and  my  lying  down  ;  thou 
art  the  guardian  of  my  soul  while  my  tired 
head  is  on  the  pillow,  and  my  judgment,  like 
an  over-wearied  sentinel,  is  drooping  uncon- 
sciously at  its  post ;  thou  knowest  the  way  that 
I  take  when  I  know  it  not  myself,  and  when  I 
awake  I  am  still  with  thee  !  How  can  a  man, 
who  will  reflect  a  moment  on  these  perpetually 
recurring  periods  of  sleep,  fail  to  be  struck  and 
affected  by  the  view  of  the  helplessness  of  his 
soul  in  those  periods,  its  need  of  protection, 
the  kindness  and  constancy  which  are  neces- 
sary to  its  protection  ?  How  can  a  man  think 
of  sleep,  without  being  impressed  seriously  and 
religiously?  without  feeling  that  his  soul  is 
God's? 

This  soul  of  mine  !  or  which  I  call  mine, 
and  yet  is  mine  so  imperfectly  !  it  now  per- 
forms its  functions  regularly  and  connectedly. 
In  my  waking  hours,  and  when  its  sight  is 


GO!  OF  801  45 

y  passion  or  by  sin,   it    ; 

v,  or  \\\i\\  Mich   clearness  as  this 
earthly  a: 

MI  Mich   as  they  may  be,  >vitl; 

;ir->  ;    it     h"lds     an    ackn«>\\  1- 

long  will  it  certainly  maintain  this  sound  es- 
tate? I  may  guard  it,  it  is  i  Q  duty  to 
guard  it,  against  som  auses  of  derange- 

i  off  by  vigilance,  by 

.;sci|)line;  but  h 

guard  it  against  many  other  causes,  \  NiM.»  and 
invi-il.le,  \\hich  may  conic  nj.nn  it  unawares, 
and  destroy  its  balance,  nn«l  (  on  fuse  its  opera- 
:ik«-  it-  \vlmlc  tahric  into  tangled 
disarrangement?  A  \\oimd  in  th«  body,  or 
in  itself;  a  blow  on  the  head,  or  a  sorro 

r  ;  a  gra  i   in- 

sunn  -ion  ;    or   some,    influence 

•Jtop^-tli'-r    nnkno\\n    and     nn^carchahle,    may 

rise  this  soul  of  mine,  and  cut  it  off  l 

ith  mankind.      I  may 

that  its  sanity  may  be  preserved  amid  all 

•  dangers;  l>>  not  assure  myself  that 

I   can  enter  into  no  engager 
with    my   soul,   to   M cure    it   against   them.      I 
should    only  mock    it  I    to  do  so. 

A  hich    it 

.  as  it  has  1.  m.-n. 

should  it  be,  who  will   hold  it,  istain 


46      GOD  THE  GUARDIAN  OF  SOULS. 

it,  when  the  little  authority  that  I  ever  had 
over  it  is  taken  away  ?  How  dark  seems  the 
darkness  !  how  sad  the  wandering  of  mental 
derangement!  And  yet  there  is  a  ray  of  light 
amidst  the  deepest  gloom,  and  the  sound  of  a 
comforting  voice  in  the  most  intricate  windings 
of  the  labyrinth.  The  ray  streams  down  from 
heaven,  and  the  voice  is  that  which  declares, 
"  All  souls  are  mine !  "  All  souls  are  in  the 
hand  of  their  Keeper  and  Defender.  Not  one 
is  excepted.  God  preserves  the  roaming,  irre- 
sponsible soul  through  all  its  aberrations,  and, 
notwithstanding  the  outward  signs  of  loss, 
saves  all  its  faculties,  and  permits  not  a  frac- 
tion of  its  integrity  to  be  dissolved.  Of  this 
truth  he  often  affords  us  the  most  convincing 
proofs.  Often  does  the  soul,  which  has  been 
untuned  for  years,  utter  in  the  last  moments 
of  mortality  the  clear  notes  of  restoration  and 
praise.  Often  does  the  soul,  which,  for  a  mel- 
ancholy time  has  seemed  to  be  shattered, 
broken  down,  and  undone,  rise  up  just  as  it 
is  called  to  quit  the  infirm  body,  rise  up  in  the 
wholeness  and  freshness  of  former  days,  show 
how  safely  it  has  been  led  and  held  by  the 
almighty  arm,  and  then  resign  itself  to  its 
God.  So  manifestly  does  the  Father  of  spirits 
vindicate  the  truth  of  his  declaration,  "  All 
souls  are  mine."  They  cannot  stray  from 
under  his  eye  ;  they  cannot  be  lost  from  his 
care. 


GO  I  \    OF  SOULS.  47 

:it  what  I  liavcsaidof  the 

lorance  of  itself,  and  weaknc^  in  and 

not  at  all  with  what  maybe 

urge.  its  high  powers,  and  the  inti- 

mati'  gires  of  higher  destinies, 

:itinnity  on   the  one  hand,  and  of 

;i    the    other,   are    religious   views, 

to  the  same  great  result.     Its  hopes, 

its  longings,  its  workings,  its  capacity  of  im- 

s  generous  affections,  these  show 

.  and   tl  worthy   to  be  cared 

of  all  knowledge  of 
essen  ,n^es  which   com 

ings,  as  it  w 

away  from  ii>clf,  all  show  the  necessity  of  its 
by  some  one  who  i- 
iain  design  has  1)  rove 

vants  of  the  sou!  to  a  M 

:  -.-nte.1  me  i!ln-tr..' 

•  I  am,  and  therefore  God 
hat  God'- 

ent  on  ours,  — God  forhid  tin-  N'ain  tion, 

-but  that  en, 

a.s  that  on  which   it   mu-t 
In  this  in::  c'xposed  the  fallacy  of 

those  \vl  1  to  say,  that  because  they  are 

ignorant  of  the  -"ill's  essence  th  :  does 

-ness 
. 
its  own  essence,  attests  it-    '  not 


48  GOD    THE  GUARDIAN    OF  SOULS. 

myself,  —  and  therefore  there  must  be  One 
who  knows  me.  I  cannot  sustain  myself, 
—  and  therefore  there  must  be  One  who  sus- 
tains me.  Give  your  thoughts  intently,  my 
friends,  at  any  time  to  this  subject,  and  you 
will  feel,  with  an  energy  to  which  words  can 
do  no  justice,  that  you  are  depending,  rest- 
ing, every  instant,  upon  your  Maker,  your 
God. 

"  Behold  !  "  says  the  Eternal,  "  all  souls 
are  mine."  "  Yea  !  "  respond  our  souls,  from 
the  deep  places  of  their  ignorance,  and  with 
all  the  voices  of  their  wants,  —  "  Yea  !  all 
souls  are  thine  !  "  Thou  art  their  Father, 
Owner,  Keeper.  The  souls  of  the  lofty  and 
the  lowly,  of  the  wealthy  and  the  poor,  of  the 
happy  and  the  sorrowful,  —  all  souls  are  thine. 
In  the  feebleness  of  childhood  and  the  feeble- 
ness of  age ;  in  clouds  and  darkness  and  weari- 
ness ;  from  the  first  moment  of  their  existence 
to  the  last  of  their  sojourn  in  clay  ;  in  their 
searchings  after  thee  and  departures  from  thee, 
and  whether  they  know  thee  or  know  thee  not, 
all  souls  are  thine  !  Take  them  —  they  are 
surrendered  to  thee  !  Help  their  weakness, 
heal  their  sickness,  enlighten  their  blindness. 
Keep  them  in  the  knowledge  and  love  of  thee 
and  of  thy  Son.  Let  them  live  in  thy  coun- 
tenance, and  grow  in  thy  grace,  and  find  thy 
redeeming  mercy.  And  raise  .them  at  last,  O, 


GOD    TlIK  GUARDIAN  OF  SOULS.  49 


our   O.xl,    from     I  ><>r    liou<i'<    to    those 

heavenly  .    \vhciv    they   shall    kn^w    :m*l 

<crve  and  enjoy  thce  for- 

!>!.«   I.  Ml'.  IK  '•-,    iMj;,. 


SERMON  V. 

FOLLY   OF  ATHEISM. 

The  fool  hath  said  in  his  heart,  There  is  no  God.  —  Psalm  xiv.  1. 

THESE  same  words  commence  also  the  fifty- 
third  Psalm,  which  is  almost  an  exact  repeti- 
tion of  the  fourteenth.  They  express  the  sen- 
timent as  strongly  as  possible,  that  to  deny  the 
being  of  God  is  a  demonstration  of  the  want 
of  wisdom,  of  the  abuse  of  intellect,  of  exceed- 
ing folly.  They  find  an  echo,  commonly,  in 
our  own  bosoms.  Having  received  the  idea 
of  a  God  of  infinite  perfection,  and  having 
cherished  it  into  faith,  and  being  deeply  con- 
vinced of  its  unspeakable  value,  we  are  amazed 
at  the  rejection  of  it  by  any,  and  at  once  de- 
cide that  such  a  rejection  is  incompatible  with 
soundness  of  mind.  To  us  it  is  an  idea,  a  con- 
viction, a  faith,  so  full  of  majesty,  of  love,  of 
hope,  of  power,  and  protection,  so  preeminently 
the  light  of  our  mental  and  moral  being,  that 
we  would  lose  anything,  suffer  anything,  rather 


FOLLY   OF  A  51 

than   j-art    with   it  :   and   aiv   unahlc  to  believe 
nounce  it  and  contend  against 
it  are  in  possession  of  even  a  tolrruMv  \\rll- 
guided  understan-. 

••"hahly  this  t-  the  folly  of  at he- 

>  which   som.-tim-'s   r 

impatient  of  those   discourses    which    aim    to 

•   the  existence  of  God,    in   refutation   of 

>m,  especially  it'  it  ho  by  a  metaphysical 

train  of  argin  \Ve  say  to  ourselves  that 

we  do  not  need  tl  ttion  ;  tl.  .  -  not 

wish  to  have  the  existence  of  God  proved  to 

us.     We  f-ar  that    • 

or  manner,  some  in  of  ju  in- 

u>tration,  may  do  inju-ti 

ntago  to  the  ad- 
versary ;  or,  if  \\  tin  not  tlii>  fear,  we 
are  simply  unwilling  to  hoar  a  truth    i 
demonstrated,  of  which   we  have  aln-ady  the 

.  and  which  we  deem  i; 
extreme  of  foolishness  or  wickedness  \^  d 
It  seems  to  be  lingering  too  long 

I  -t  to  be  d  nice 

may  it&elf  become  too  sensitive,  and  be  car 
too  far.     We  should  be  tolerant  of  th« 

r,     I,-    in- 

and  and 

wiii.-h  wr  our-«'lves,  in  some  form 

i   no  small  share  of  the  pres- 
ent .-•  u  do 


52  FOLLY   OF  ATHEISM. 

not  absolutely  need  proof  of  the  being  of  God, 
yet  it  may  be  useful  to  dwell  upon  the  steps 
of  it  presented  to  us ;  and  though  nothing 
quite  new  may  be  advanced  in  the  way  of 
argument,  yet  something  may  be  said  which 
shall  either  awaken  a  slumbering  memory,  or 
point  out  a  new  track  for  our  thoughts,  in  the 
way  of  suggestion.  Neither  is  it  always  the 
purpose  of  a  discourse  on  the  being  of  God  to 
prove  that  being  to  those  who  may  be  in  doubt 
of  it,  but,  quite  as  often  or  oftener,  to  conduct 
the  meditations  of  the  faithful  over  some  por- 
tion of  a  subject  which  covers  an  almost  in- 
exhaustible field  of  inquiry  and  reflection,  and 
everywhere  contains  material  of  pious  and  prof- 
itable thought. 

But  though  caution  is  to  be  had  in  regulat- 
ing the  repugnance  of  which  I  have  spoken, 
it  remains  true  that  it  arises  from  a  sound  con- 
viction of  the  folly  of  unbelief,  and  deserves 
notice  as  an  indication  of  its  pure  and  healthy 
source.  What  indeed  can  be  more  senseless  — 
and  this  is  the  point  to  which  I  would  now 
direct  your  attention  —  than  the  act  of  deny- 
ing the  existence  of  a  Supreme  Being,  of  dis- 
carding the  thought  of  an  Almighty  Creator, 
Disposer,  and  Friend  ?  What  good  end  can 
there  be  proposed  by  it  ;  what  satisfaction ; 
what  reward  ?  What  is  there  to  be  gained, 
and  what  is  there  not  to  be  lost,  by  the  prodi- 


FOLLY   OF  A 

gal  r  th  in  God?     This  is  one 

le  and  ]  i  i>t'  the 

whol  In  a  moral  aspect,  it  is 

test-  It  reaches  the  end.     It  touches 

the  in  >r;il  and  spiritual   influences  of  religious 

\\      r   in  effect  is  the  atheistic  d 
He  who  says  that  there  is  no  God,  says,  in  the 

DOt  only  that   there  is  no 
who  with  knowledge  and  design  ln-mi-ht  into 
existence  and  set  in  motion  the  \\hole  scene  of 
things  about  us,   hut    that  there  is  no   t 

:i  thoron  ierstands  and  comprehends 

ysto- 

fM   it    into  an  onini-  i nt  charge. 

is  no  knowledge  of  it,  tin -re  can  be  no 

The  world  is  uncared  for.     It  is 

with  -lit  :i  pi  : 

any  wisdom    in    a   supposition    like    this?     Is 

there  anything  pleasant  or  satisfactory  to  the 

mind  or  heart  to  be  told  that  the  world  goes 

>y  stop  and  fall   to   pieces 

is  no  one  that  understands 

its  11  -s  operations,  above  and 

reduce  such  ma<:  ;iiul 

results ;  •>$  alwa\ 

and   always  will    l>e   mi|>rih-tr;iU    : 
without  a  governor  and  witl  out  I 

the  assertion    a^ 
east  is  from  the  west  ? 


54  FOLLY   OF  ATHEISM. 

And  then,  if  the  world,  is  unknown  and  un- 
cared  for,  it  follows  of  course  that  man  is  un- 
known and  uncared  for  by  a  Supreme  Being. 
He  who  says  that  there  is  no  God,  says  that 
he  himself,  says  that  every  man,  is  without 
government,  without  protection,  without  salva- 
tion, is  in  a  condition  of  solitariness  and  or- 
phanage. He  says  that  there  is  no  judge  to 
right  the  wronged,  to  defend  the  cause  of  the 
needy  and  oppressed,  to  restore  the  golden 
balance  of  justice  and  truth  which  has  been 
disturbed  by  passion  and  by  crime.  He  says, 
that,  when  the  spirit  of  a  man  is  bowed  down 
by  calamity  and  is  deserted  by  human  sym- 
pathy, there  is  no  one  above  to  resort  to  for 
strength  and  for  sympathy  ;  that,  when  it  is 
lingering  on  the  last  verge  of  life,  there  is  no 
one  to  sustain  and  comfort  it ;  and  when  it 
passes  out  of  life,  there  is  no  one  to  receive  it. 
He  says  that  there  is  no  one  to  give  us  what 
the  world  cannot  give,  but  that  all  our  peace 
and  all  our  joy  and  all  our  reward  must  be 
here  or  nowhere,  and  that  when  happiness 
departs  from  us  here,  it  departs  from  us  for- 
ever. He  says  that  the  widow  has  no  Eternal 
Friend,  and  the  orphan  no  Almighty  Father ; 
that  we  are  all  orphans ;  that  there  is  no  pa- 
ternal eye  to  watch  over  us,  and  no  paternal 
hand  to  lead  us,  and  no  paternal  heart  to  feel 
for  us,  and  no  paternal  home  to  shelter  us  at 


LT  OF  A  55 

last;   tli:r  us    forlorn   and    dio   thus 

"lilivi.m   :in«l   ivturn- 
to  ol.livion  again.     '1  ii:it  he  - 

saying  t'  e  is   no  God.      Is   tl. 

wisdom  in  the  opinion  ;   any  mark   of 
about  it?    Is  there  anything  eK'vatinir.  or  rom- 

I>  there  anything 
to  virtue  or   to  any  kin 
i'-nt  ?     Is  it  not  folly,  and  the  h« 
lly,  to  divest  one's  self  of  convictions  of 
a  supreme  ord' i,  and  a  providential  L 

ial  love?      ^  •  ••    iiis  is 
t'..llv  of  him   who   says   that    there  is  no 
God. 

And  he  says  this,  be  it  further  observed,  not 
in  nl.t.li  mderance  of 

logical,  or  any  other  sj 

of  God.     No  preponderance  of 
tlh    kind   has  ever   been    confessed.     On 

preponderance  is  claimed  by  be- 
rs  to  be  vastly  on  tln-ir  u\vn  >id«'.     They 
rest  not  their  cause  on  feeling  alone,  how 
•  •ly  njMin  it-cling.     They  1 

Store  of  ar-nin.'ii:  beilde  j  and  can  mat. -h,  out 
of  their  armory,  any  weapon  wliirh  the  ad- 
versary can  produce.  No  argument  against 

of  God  has  ever  been  utt 
ictant  world,  which  has  not  I 
imiii  by  a  stronger  argu- 

t     the    faithful. 


56  FOLLY   OF  ATHEISM. 

every  discourse,  every  book,  in  favor  of  the 
atheistic  hypothesis,  there  are  scores  of  dis- 
courses, scores  of  books,  in  refutation  of  it,  and 
all  better.  And  this  is  so,  whether  we  go  into 
the  fields  of  metaphysical  speculation,  or  into 
the  varied  regions  of  natural  science.  There 
is  a  line,  indeed,  beyond  which  human  investi- 
gation cannot  proceed,  beyond  which  it  can- 
not be  said,  This  is,  or  This  is  not.  But  up 
to  this  absolute  line,  where  all  must  stop  in  a 
common  ignorance,  every  argument  of  unbe- 
lief, from  every  quarter,  has  been  met  and 
answered,  ably,  fairly,  and  completely.  He, 
therefore,  who  says  there  is  no  God,  makes 
the  assertion  not  only  in  defiance  of  the  most 
prevailing  moral  considerations,  but  in  neglect, 
also,  of  as  powerful  reasoning  as  ever  pro- 
ceeded from  the  combination  of  human  genius 
with  human  learning.  What  unspeakable 
folly  —  to  sacrifice  hope,  trust,  protection, 
consolation,  without  being  able  to  say  that  the 
greater  array  of  reason,  or  that  some  unan- 
swered argument  compelled  the  sacrifice  ! 
What  unspeakable  folly  —  to  reject  the  sure 
staff  of  support  in  this  world  of  trouble,  with- 
out the  substitute  of  a  single  deduction  of 
science  which  has  not  been  proved  unsound, 
or  of  a  cold  syllogism  even,  which  has  not 
been  broken  in  pieces  ! 

While  we  are  upon  this  moral  and  practical 


/SM.  57 

.ay  l>c  well    to    add,    that 
li   lias  been  exposed  i-  not  in  tin* 
diminished   by  a   denial   of  the  term  athe- 
ism,   though    at    the    sain 

adopted,  which,  1.  look 

as  a  morally  and   practically  at 

principle  is  suj. posed 

to  pervade  the  world,  or  IK»  tin-  mind  or  soul 
.  and    is  in\  e^ted  with  the 

>nal  and 

it  care  and  govern  in 
and  all  the  is  no 

:al   and    . 

view.  i]>ersonal  i>rinciple,  called 

Ood,    and    no   God.       It    iii<-    principle   called 
God  care  of  or   t  ncart 

i  are 

no  <:.  rcise 

of  in  pe,  and   my  ; 

consequence  to 

such  a  principle  exists  or  not.     1  will 
waste  my  tiuu-    in    a>certainini:  whether    there 
is,    n.  ,,,    any    d  n    a 

ii  supposes  such  a  God 

baldest  form  of  atheism,  because  I  feel  that, 
morally  and  practically  and  vitally,  there  i 

ay  be  easily  asserted, 

it  will  be  as  easily  granted,  that  no  one 

can  form  a  distinct  conception  of  the  mode  of 


58  FOLLY   OF  ATHEISM. 

the  Infinite  Lord  of  heaven  and  earth.  But 
this  inability  does  not  interfere  with  the  power 
of  forming  a  moral  apprehension  of  God,  which 
is,  in  fact,  the  basis  of  all  true  religion.  It 
is  not  necessary  that  we  should  be  able  to 
define  the  mode  of  God's  existence,  but  it  is 
necessary,  and  it  is  perfectly  within  our  power, 
to  make  up  our  minds  whether  the  God  of  our 
faith  is  or  is  not  a  God,  who,  amidst  all  the 
mysteries  of  his  nature,  has  a  personal  knowl- 
edge and  a  personal  charge  of  us  ;  whether  he 
is  the  God  of  the  Bible  and  of  Christianity, 
or  of  some  metaphysical  theory  which  would 
remove  him  from  the  government  of  the  world 
and  the  affections  of  men.  It  is  very  easy  for 
any  one  to  settle  for  himself  this  moral  and 
practical  question,  which  is  without  a  shadow 
of  abstruseness.  He  has  to  deal  only  with 
results,  with  consequences.  He  has  only  to 
determine  whether  there  is  any  final  distinc- 
tion, any  distinction  which  his  heart  can  recog- 
nize, between  a  God  who  sees  and  knows  and 
hears  and  loves  him  not,  and  no  God.  If  he 
perceives  no  such  distinction,  he  will  not  feel 
more  inclined  to  surrender  his  long-cherished 
faith  and  worship  to  an  adorned  theory,  hung 
about  with  lofty  phrases,  than  to  a  more  vul- 
gar atheism  ;  and  he  would  consider  the  sur- 
render to  be  a  folly  of  the  same  character,  and 
to  the  same  effect,  with  that  of  saying,  There 
is  no  God. 


FOLLY  OF  A  59 

The  fool  luith  sa'nl   in  his  heart,  There  i- 

His  folly  consists  not  in  his  saying 

so,in  of  that  single  phrase; 

it  is  the  folly 

of  hi  .  by  which  he  banishes  fn.-m    his 

;_^hts,  as  far  as  he  can,  the  conviction  of  an 
overrulinir,  all-seeing,  ling,  and   faithful 

God.  All  speculation  \\hieh  results  in  a 
ilar  e..neln-inn  must  be  marked  by  a  >imilar 
The  true  God  is  ascertained,  not 
speculatively,  but  morally.  He  is  God  tin- 
Creator,  God  the  Father,  God  the  Judge. 
As  a  human  friend  sees  us  ami  km»\vs  us,  so 
does  God,  only  far  more  clearly  and  intimately  ; 
as  that  friend  feels  for  us  and  loves  us,  so  does 
God,  only  far  more  deeply  and  more  \\i 
as  that  friend  seeks  our  happiness  for  time  and 
for  t  so  does  God,  but  by  means  whieli 

are  far  beyond  all  human  power  or  thought. 
h   in  this  God  is  tin-  true  faith,  be  it  ac- 
companied or.unacf  i  by  speculation  : 
lorn,  and   it   is  salvation.     "For  this 
God  is  our  God  forever  and  ever  ;  he  \vill  be 
our  guide  even  unto  <l«-ath." 

OCTOBER  17,  1841. 


SERMON  VI. 


DWELLING  IN  THE    TEMPLE. 

One  thing  have  I  desired  of  the  Lord,  that  will  I  seek  after; 
that  I  may  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  all  the  days  of  my 
life,  to  behold  the  beauty  of  the  Lord,  and  to  inquire  in  His 
temple.  —  Psalm  xxvii.  4. 

THE  existence  and  perfections  of  God,  and 
the  relations  of  God  with  man,  as  his  Creator, 
Father,  and  Judge,  being  established  as  facts  in 
the  mind  of  the  believer,  the  very  next  question 
which  will  naturally  be  presented  for  solution 
is,  what  should  be  his  own  main  object  and  chief 
desire,  as  a  creature,  a  son,  and  a  servant  of 
God  ?  The  question  is,  not  what  should  be 
his  only  object  and  desire,  but  what  should  be 
his  principal,  his  supreme  object  and  desire. 
He  sees  and  readily  allows,  that  while  he  is  on 
earth,  surrounded  by  various  earthly  relations, 
his  objects  must  be  many  and  his  desires  many, 
and  that  it  is  the  law  of  his  condition  and  the 
will  of  his  Creator  that  he  should  give  due 
heed  to  them  all,  in  their  time  and  place.  But 


DWELLING   r  Cl 

to  know,  beside  and  above  this, 

what  should  be  th«-  ruling  desire  of  his  spirit, 

whir  :  vision    -  oth- 

en,  and  according  to  which  the  others  should 
be  c  1,  and  which  will  serve  him  as  a 

great  :1 1 rough  the  labyrinth 

Many  of  us,  I  presume,  at  one  period  or  an- 

,  and  with  more  or  less  intensity,  have 

Minn.      Remarkable 

Mid  ]  \  of  that 

soul  to  whirh  it  has  never  been  hr.-n-ht  home. 
:iess,  or  bereavement,  or  solitude,  any 
signal    ii  our 

usual  roi  living,  or  even  the  seemingly 

casual    i  .f  some  serious 

••>  propose,  an  is  on  to 

ansu  wliat,  among  all  our  de- 

sires,  should    be  the    chief  desire  ;    what,  as 
il    beings,  we  should  be 
And  all  argument,  all    r 
all  self-communion,  soberly  and  sensibly 

ill  soon  be  concentrated  on  one  point, 
toward  \\hidi  all  u instances  will  look, 

and  on  which  all  the  energies  of  tin-  mind,  and 
occupations  and  engagements  will    be 

mad*  U*ur.       'Hie   reason   and 

heart   will   unite    in   the   conclusion,    • 
ire  of  ti  lire  should  I 

member  and  serve  his  Creator;  < 


62  DWELLING  IN   THE   TEMPLE. 

to  honor  and  obey  his  Father ;  of  the  mortal 
probationer,  to  obtain  the  favor  of  his  Judge. 
This  conclusion  is  well  expressed  by  the  words 
of  the  text :  "  One  thing  have  I  desired  of  the 
Lord,  that  will  I  seek  after ;  that  I  may  dwell 
in  the  house  of  the  Lord  all  the  days  of  my 
life,  to  behold  the  beauty  of  the  Lord,  and  to 
inquire  in,"  or,  as  it  is  otherwise  translated,  "  to 
gaze  upon  his  temple." 

The  one  great  object  and  purpose  of  rational 
and  spiritual  life  is  expressed  by  these  words 
none  the  less  distinctly,  and  all  the  more  im- 
pressively, by  being  expressed  somewhat  meta- 
phorically. The  one  desire  of  the  Psalmist  was, 
that  he  might  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  all 
the  clays  of  his  life.  But  the  Psalmist,  with  all 
his  attachment,  as  a  Jew,  to  the  temple  at  Jeru- 
salem, did  not  mean  that  the  one  thing  on  which 
his  heart  was  bent  was  actually  to  take  up  his 
abode,  and  literally  to  dwell  and  remain  in  the 
temple  all  the  days  of  his  life  ;  but  habitually, 
constantly,  and  gladly  to  frequent  it,  as  a  devout 
worshipper,  and  in  order  that  his  heart  might 
be  prevailingly  occupied  and  refreshed  by  the 
true  spirit  and  the  gracious  comforts  of  relig- 
ion. As  it  was  to  him,  so  this  constant  spirit- 
ual abiding  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  will  ap- 
pear to  be  to  us,  in  our  seasons  of  reflection 
and  inquiry,  the  one  thing  to  be  desired  and 
sought  after.  Not  that  the  mere  going  to  the 


DWV 

•  of  God  or  tlu«  mere 

er  so  long  or  often  :  l>ut   that 
nee  on  God,  the  emot 

inU   him,   and   tin-   i^mni:   up 

Vim  in  love  and  •  iiicli 

are  figured  l,y  the  -trong  expression  of  d\\ell- 

vs  in  the  house  of  the  Lord,  will  be 

V  to  which   the  desires  of 

uld  be  turned,  and  into  which  our 

•  absorbed.     The  purpose  of  th" 

will  he  simple.     It  will  no  longer  be  dis- 

iny  ealN,  bewildered  among  in 
roaming:  it  will  he  din  (ted  to  one  thing,  < 
the  p«Tpetual  worship  of  the  Father  in  - 
and  in  truth.  This  worshi  'one, 

- 'hit-fly,  or  any  outward  form-.    Words 
ind  do  iiourMi  it,  t'ur- 
i>  and  nn  inorials;  and  there- 
it    will    i  \,  and    it    rann«  •• 

.i!d  :   hut  tin-  worship  itst-lt'  i^-   : 

••  hieh    the    atl'ectioiis,    the 
and  compl  r  to 

.     And  r  we  say 

of  God,  or  tin-  tear  of  God,  or  religion 

holiness,  or  the  obedience  of  God's 

r  is  all  the  same;  it  is  "one 

ind    ///<•   one   tiling    which   attrarN    the 

fcOTi  when  lie  t'.-i-U  hiin- 

:  0    of  God.        (  >ll     till- 

.eart  of  the  true 


64  DWELLING  IN   THE   TEMPLE. 

worshipper,  the  heart  which  has  been  fixed 
thereon  by  his  own  rational  convictions,  and 
the  divine  grace  assisting  him.  The  house  of 
God,  built  with  hands,  will  be  loved  and  fre- 
quented, because  it  is  the  visible  type  of  the 
temple  not  built  with  hands,  and  because  it  is 
the  porch  of  the  temple  within.  But  the  tem- 
ple of  bis  soul's  constant  residence,  the  house 
of  the  Lord,  in  which  he  desires  to  dwell  his 
whole  life  long,  is  that  lofty  and  spiritual 
building,  that  vast  and  sacred  edifice,  higher 
than  the  sky  and  more  ample  than  the  earth, 
which  encloses  all  his  relations  with  the  Author 
of  his  being.  In  this  he  serves  and  ministers, 
a  faithful  Levite,  by  night  and  by  day,  feeding 
the  bright  and  perpetual  lamp  of  faith,  singing 
the  psalms  of  the  heart,  and  offering  the  sacri- 
fices of  God  in  righteousness.  He  is  not  wea- 
ried with  his  service.  He  feels  no  impatience, 
and  no  morbid  desire  of  change.  He  is  not 

D 

to  be  attracted  nor  terrified  from  the  place  of 
his  duty;  for  he  has  found  the  place  of  his  duty 
to  be  the  place,  and  the  only  place,  of  his  secu- 
rity and  rest.  In  suffering  or  rejoicing,  in  ac- 
tion or  repose,  in  the  body  or  out  of  the  body, 
he  desires  one  thing  above  everything  else, — 
to  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord,  to  be  with 
God. 

This  desire  is  rendered  more  single  and  in- 
tense, more  searching  and  sustaining,  pervad- 


DWELLING   r  65 

ing  the  -  1  blood  the  body,  b\ 

varie  '  .  at   many 

who.  have 

it,  or  1' 

taint  away,  and  that  many  either  do  n»t  form 
it  at  all,  or  only  breathe  it  hastily  with  their 
last  breath,  i-  probably  too  late,  at 

least  for  all   purposes  of  t:  d    probation. 

•  do  form  it,  and  who 

are  daily  receiving  fr  use- 

ful iere  a  little  and  there  a  little,  of 

seriousness  and  wisd-  -wl- 

edge  tbat   their  di-ci:  m-h, 

always  fraught  with 

will  applv  it  widely  ;  and  that  every  year  \\  liich 
passes  ov«  i   them,  wl 
be,  still   c  at  one  t' 

S  to 

ii  th«-  house  of  the  Lord, 
ery  year  and  all  eve:  Inn 

n,   and    eoneur   to   M:  the 

conscious   and    watchful 
,  yet  there  are  peculiar  seasons  and  oc- 
casion-     in    which     clearer    view>    than     u 
seem  to  1  .--d  of  the  ^ivat    object  of  lile, 

iinpulsr    than    coinnmn    to   be 
!  already 

intimated  what  i  seasons  and  oc- 

The    soul    is    then    romprlled    or 
into   a    st  "paration.       We 

6 


66  DWELLING  IN   THE   TEMPLE. 

enter  into  our  chambers.  Worldly  forms,  gay 
temptations,  the  shapes  of  fashion  and  of  cus- 
tom, are  then  shut  out.  The  eye  reposes  from 
their  flauntings,  and  the  ear  is  relieved  from 
their  babblings  ;  and  in  their  stead  comes  in 
duty,  and  sits  down  by  us  alone,  and  utters  its 
simple  but  solemn  lessons,  and  teaches  us  in 
serious  friendliness  the  purposes  of  our  exist- 
ence. The  listener,  the  pupil,  is  brought  to  a 
survey  of  the  years  that  are  past.  He  sees 
them  in  a  clear  and  passionless  light ;  and  the 
conviction  comes  to  him  like  a  revelation  ;  it  is 
so  unlike  what  he  has  at  other  times  called  con- 
victions, that  in  measure  they  have  been  brief, 
in  number  few  ;  and  that  all  their  value,  all 
that  renders  them  of  more  consequence  than 
so  many  successive  dreams,  is  comprised  in 
acts  of  obedience  to  the  supreme  law,  in  works 
and  thoughts  of  charity,  in  the  exercise  of  the 
affections  according  to  the  divine  will,  in  what- 
ever has  brought  him  nearer,  by  the  ways  of 
action  or  contemplation,  to  heaven,  Christ,  and 
God.  What  are  commonly  termed  the  pleas- 
ures of  life,  shrink  up  in  this  survey  into  a 
small  compass,  and  are  so  little  inviting  in 
their  shrunken  forms,  that  the  mind  would 
rather  avoid  them  than  dwell  upon  them. 
Those  only  seem  to  be  pleasures  which  have 
been  received  with  gratitude  and  enjoyed  with 
innocence,  and  have  united  themselves  with 


DWELLING   IN   7  67 

duties   in   the  gr<  of  spiritual   prepara- 

tion.    Nor  does   the   pupil   look  only   on    the 
ast.      His   view    is  directed   to 
II     looks  down  on  tin-  valley  be- 
fore him,  where  falls  the  broad,  shadowless  li^ht 
of  et  Years  and  months  are  not  tl. 

for  t!  :   come.      But  the  si^ns  of 

ny  are  plain.     He  reads,  that  it'  his 
mortal  1.  ar  its  close,  the  untried  state 

is  also  near,  and  Go  ulgo,  is  at  hand. 

I!  reads,  that  it  his  life  is  to  be  spared  for 
more  years  on  earth,  they  will  be  no  longer 
than  the  years  that  are  gone,  and  will  pass  as 
swiftly  as  tl  their 

number  or  character  may  he,  iheir  value  will 
surely  be  measured  by  the  same  unvarying 
•••ited  the  value  of  their  predeces- 
sors, an<l  that  thoughts  and  deeds  of  holiness 
and  improvement  will  be  the  only  records  upon 

i  which  he  will  pern  -\ith  any 

satisfaction.       He  sees  that   his  i  may 

change,  but  that  his  great  obligation: 
and  that,  whatever  else  may  be  altered,  his  re- 

:is   with  .nairi 

unalterable.     And  thus  he  feels   himself  * 
now  encompassed  be;  i    I- -hind,  on  the 

right  hand  and  on  the  left,  hy  th 
that  >le  On.-.     His  contemplations 

:ij.le,  and    sati.s!a<-mry. 
11      no  longer  labors  among  things  which  are 


68  DWELLING  IN   THE   TEMPLE. 

hard  to  be  understood.  He  learns  the  few  let- 
ters which  compose  the  ineffable  Name.  Life, 
and  the  presence  of  its  author  are  to  him  one 
and  the  same  thing,  and  the  ends  of  life  be- 
come identified  with  the  obedience  and  the 
enjoyment  of  God. 

Convictions  of  this  character  are  the  only 
ones  which  deserve  the  name  of  being  relig- 
ious. Other  convictions  there  may  be,  or  seem 
to  be,  enthusiastic,  sympathetic,  traditionary,  or 
doctrinal,  which  claim  to  be  religious  ;  but  un- 
less they  guide  the  affections,  the  desires,  the 
life,  into  the  state  of  spiritual  obedience,  trust 
and  rest  which  I  have  attempted  to  describe, 
they  are  not  religious,  they  are  not  Christian; 
they  are  nothing,  and  vanity.  Their  preten- 
sions, however  great,  cannot  be  allowed.  They 
will  not  be  heard  for  their  much  speaking. 
Those  convictions  only  are  religious  which  are 
active  and  operative,  leading  the  soul  into  the 
temple,  and  causing  it  to  dwell  there.  By 
whatever  circumstances,  events,  instructions, 
or  trains  of  thought  such  convictions  are  pro- 
duced, they  are  essentially  religious.  They 
may  be  brought  about  in  one  mind  by  one  set 
of  influences,  and  in  another  mind  by  a  set  in 
many  respects  dissimilar  ;  but,  however  brought 
about,  the  mind  which  entertains  them  enter- 
tains religion,  finds  religion,  enjoys  religion;  — 
and  enjoyment  it  is,  above  all  else  which  bears 
the  name. 


v  nn:   i  GO 

And  h  iy  not  be  unnecessary  to  sa\ -. 

.-..per  religious   COflvictlOftl   an-    far 

•f  a  gloomy  nature.     They  n. 

cause  gloominess,  nor  have  they  any  affinity 

with  such  a   I  Oient      <  >n   the  contrary, 

the  wor-hipi  more  constant  and  undis- 

ill  be  hi-  Iness, —  that  rational 

ifulness  parable  « 

ion  of  rational  seriousness.     His  most  ser 

;  l<>\v<l  in  Ia\  •  founda- 

tions of  che<  ,  so  that  no  light  si 

shall  overturn  it.     Cheerfulness  becomes 
of  his    chara  1    his    nature.      ll..\v 

should   he   be  otl  than    cheerful,    when 

!   abides  with  the  Paternal 
rnal  dome?     How  vlmuld 
•••rfuK   when    he   feels 
that  ;at  dome  there  is  peace  in. 

rity  fni-.-ver,  that  into  that  sanctuary  th 
and   the   avenger  cannot    jnir-ue    him  '      1 
should  he  be  •  than  dn-erful,  \\  h,  , 

regards  a;  -  of  iinj.i 

Blldl    in    |'i-;i'-ti,-..  that 
are  so  indeed  ;  when  he  sees  that  flo 
in  grave^  he  sees  that 

1  enriches  the  willing  soul  as 
the  willing  soil  ;  when   he  sees  that 
death  harm  his  lif-,  not 

!)    its  eternal  m«l 

Preserver?     I  will  not  say  that  he  is  I 


70  DWELLING   IN   THE    TEMPLE. 

moment  cheerful  ;  that  he  is  not  sometimes 
overtaken  by  the  shadow  of  dark  hours.  He 
is  not  stoically  independent  of  all  outward  im- 
pressions, nor  exempt  from  internal  changes. 
He  is  not  perfect.  He  is  mortal.  He  is  frail. 
But  his  cheerfulness,  though  not  actually  unin- 
termitted,  is  yet  habitual.  It  does  not  easily 
give  way.  It  is  more  and  more  confirmed  by 
the  accession  of  every  feeling  of  piety,  every 
religious  experience,  every  step  towards  the  in- 
nermost, holiest,  and  safest  portion  of  the  house 
of  the  Lord. 

Tims  are  they  instructed  who  are  willing  to 
receive  instruction.  Thus  are  they  instructed 
day  by  day,  and  day  by  day  improved.  Their 
outward  occupations,  their  temporal  business 
and  pursuits,  and  the  scenes  of  them,  are  vari- 
ous. Whatever  these  may  be,  they  will  not 
slight  them.  They  will  move  in  them  with 
diligence.  But  they  will  perceive,  all  the 
while,  that,  being  temporal,  they  can  only  en- 
dure for  a  season,  and  cannot  wisely  be  made 
the  sole  and  ultimate  object  of  attention  and 
desire  ;  and  that  there  is  only  one  thing,  amidst 
all  these  vanishing  things,  which  is  supremely 
desirable,  — to  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  ; 
to  obey  him,  to  worship  him,  to  rest  upon  him 
forever  ;  because  he,  and  he  only,  is  the  master 
of  life,  and  without  him  favor  is  deceitful  and 
beauty  is  vain,  light  is  darkness  and  life  is  death. 

FEBRUARY  22,  1835. 


SERMON  VII. 

DEATH    AN    APPOINTMl 
It  is  appointed  onto  men  once  to  die,  bat  after  this  the  judg- 


\\'K  cannot  think  or  speak  of  death  except 
as  a  certainty.      It   would  amount  even  to  a 
isc  of  language  to  say,  We  may  die,  as  if 
the  even  in  any  degree  conditional,  in- 

stead of  employing  the  positive  and  only  pi 
phrase,  We  must  die.     There  is  a  wide  diller- 
encc,  however,  betwe<  ling  death  in 

as  a  fact,   though   settled   and   incvitahi.-,   and 
regarding  it  as  an  appointment.     To  regard  it 
merely  as  a  fact,  universal  to  the  human  race, 
u'ive  it  into  the  cold  hands  of  an  nnint.  1- 
To  regard  it  as  an  appointment, 
is  to  plae  Iff  the  ii  of  an  intelli- 

ng.     And  this  last  is  the  con- 
on  to  which  we  itnrally  are 
Nothing  seems  to  be  m<  bit  than 
toattiil.'i                 ,  which  1.                           l-ed  Jaws 
•    the  ac:.                                   nance  or 


72  DEATH  AN  APPOINTMENT. 

insensible  fate.  Its  laws  are  ascertained  by  the 
science  of  physiology ;  its  limits  are  well  known 
to  general  experience.  The  sure  elements  of 
death  are  contained,  from  the  first,  within  the 
structure  of  every  human  frame,  premonishing 
its  dissolution  ;  and  this  dissolution  takes  place 
within  certain  bounds  of  time,  which  are  never 
exceeded.  Here  are  indications  of  intention  ; 
signals  that  death  does  not  happen  unto,  but  is 
appointed  unto  men. 

Then  the  question  occurs,  If  death  is  ap- 
pointed, by  whom  is  it  appointed  ?  By  Him 
only,  is  the  necessary  answer,  —  the  One  Al- 
mighty, who  appoints  all  the  conditions  of  our 
being  and  of  the  world,  and  who  alone  is  able 
to  appoint  a  condition  so  dread  and  so  universal 
as  that  of  death.  By  none  other  can  death 
be  appointed.  By  none  other  can  generation 
after  generation  be  swept  away  from  the  earth, 
like  leaves  by  autumnal  winds.  Death  is  an 
appointment  from  God. 

Here  we  arrive  at  the  religious  view  of 
death,  having  passed  the  merely  literal  and  the 
merely  philosophical  view.  Here  we  ascribe  a 
significance  to  death,  and  a  holy  significance, 
by  making  it  the  act  of  God.  Here  we  per- 
ceive that  the  proper  meaning  and  force  of  the 
text  lies  in  the  word  "appointed."  The  idea 
of  God's  supreme  power  and  providence  must 
have  occupied  the  mind  of  the  writer,  or  he 


AT//    A\ 

unto 

Ami   it   is   in   tin- 

:i  only,  as  a  divine  appointment,  t' 

{'..Mini  when  the  shadow  of  d< 
[f  (tod  has  taken 
ate  chari  -ith  be  of 

his  appointin.  we  may  certainly  know 

ors  of  its  appear- 

.  it    is  :ij  in  wisdom   and   :r 

It  is  appointed  by  the  same  Being 
who  opens  our  eyes  upon  the  glories  of 
marvellous  world,   and   is   the   author   of  all 
iness  we  ha 

same   Being  who  ml. s  the 
.  in  all  its  movements  and  tin- 
all  its  extent.      Let    it   cm: 
season,  in  whatever  mode,  it  canno:  ith- 

Ce   of  that    k1  \vliirh 

iilit  ami  •  :  row 

may  lean.     The  circumstances  of  death  may 

•d  be  varied  by  that  imprudence  which  is 

t  «.r  human   t'railty,  or  that  perversenew 

which  is  a  consequence  of  human  I,  lint 

ii   ignorance  nor  sin  can  t 'a  tally 

with   th  in   and   love  of  (• 

ith  is  nnalterably  ol'  hi^  ap- 
point iially  with  his  kindest  and  bright- 
est d  i^r  so,  cannot  be  s 

::i  those  attendant  COD  i('!i  th>w 


74  DEATH  AN  APPOINTMENT. 

from  his  grace,  and  are  founded  on  his  divine 
nature  and  attributes.  Nor  can  any  shock  of 
the  excited  elements,  or  anything  called  fatal 
accident,  disturb  the  settled  pillars  of  this  faith. 
All  these  are  under  his  control,  pass  not  a  step 
beyond  his  decree,  and  touch  not  the  great  is- 
sue. The  wildest  waves  sink  down  with  the 
subsiding  storm,  and  yield  a  path  to  follow- 
ing navies.  The  fiercest  volcano  retires,  when 
spent,  into  its  caverns,  and  leaves  a  soil  for  the 
richest  vineyards  on  the  highway  of  its  desola- 
tions. Life  follows  death  and  death  life,  and 
both  by  the  same  appointment.  To  know  that 
God  is  wise,  to  know  that  God  is  good,  is  to 
know  that  his  wisdom  and  his  goodness  preside 
at  once  over  life  and  over  death. 

We  soon  reach  the  conclusion  that  the  event 
of  death  is  a  direct  appointment  of  the  Supreme 
Intelligence,  and  that  it  therefore  admits  freely 
of  those  comforts  which  a  consideration  of  the 
attributes  of  our  heavenly  Father  cannot  fail  to 
afford.  But  we  are  permitted  to  proceed  some- 
what further,  and  to  ask  more  particularly  why 
is  death  appointed,  and  what  are  the  special 
grounds  of  the  appointment  ?  A  cojnplete  an- 
swer to  this  question,  satisfying  every  wish  of 
the  heart  and  every  difficulty  of  the  under- 
standing, must  not  be  expected  in  this  present 
state,  which  is  emphatically  a  state  of  dim- 
ness ;  but  fall  enough  may  be  answered  for  the 


DTATII  ,!.V    \rrOINTMENT.  75 

encoi  \  of  hope,  and  of  un- 

••iist. 

All  the  arrangements  of  man's  present  lite 
have  an  <  diameter,  and  a 

reference  to  a  speedy  termination;  man:' 

of  tiling  not  now  attainable,  and 
a  series  of  preparations  for  some  content; >! 
•  ire.     The  body  itself,  the  abode  of  the*  in- 
not  ast  I  milt  up  for 

permanence.      The  very  food  by  which   it  is 
nourished  oft.  :  •-  injury 

or  d<  .      lli'    -lightest  attack  shak< 

In\:  :  the  air  accomplish  its  decay. 

escapes  all  violence,  all  disease,  it  wears 
out  of  itself,  according  to  the  laws  of  its  con- 
struction, and  with  no  means  of  repair.  Bounds 
are  set  to  our  knowledge  and  to  our  spiritual 

i«ls  of  stars  just  show 

,  and  only  by  night  and  in  the 

least  appreciable  any 

near  main  as  far  away  at  our  man, 

as  at  our  birth.     <  )f  life,  and  its  principal  condi- 

essmtial  relations,  we  soon  learn  all 

that    there  is  to  be   1  Tin*   details  of 

d     inexhaustible    and    al- 

waysenou-h  tor  <>< •< -upation,  and  are  only  too 
mur:  :    l.ut   they  are  all   c«>ntain'-d 

within   an   earthly  cird«-,  and    uiak-'   no   addi- 
tO  those  r  latious  oj'  which 

I  speak.  ;i  who  nunihurs  thirty 


76  DEATH  AN  APPOINTMENT. 

years  of  pilgrimage  must  feel  that,  with  re- 
gard to  these  main  objects,  he  has  got  through, 
and  that  the  rest  of  his  way  can  be  only  repe- 
tition. Our  faculties  themselves  have  their 
limits,  beyond  which  there  is  no  increase  for 
them  ;  just  as  the  body,  when  arrived  at  its 
full  strength,  grows  no  stronger.  Here  are  in- 
dications of  sufficient  distinctness  to  show  that 
there  is  only  so  much  to  be  done  in  this  life,  so 
much  to  be  known,  so  much  to  be  experienced, 
and  no  more.  And  yet,  together  with  these 
indications,  there  is  an  irrepressible  desire  in 
the  bosom  of  man,  who  is  thus  limited  and 
hemmed  in,  for  the  further  expansion  and 
progress  which  the  terms  of  his  present  being 
deny  to  him.  Death  is  appointed  to  fulfil  this 
desire,  by  removing  the  limits  and  restrictions 
which  the  initiatory  state  of  existence  imposes. 
To  perceive  the  temporary  nature  and  frailty 
and  deficiency  of  mortal  life,  is  to  perceive  a 
reason  for  the  appointment  of  death. 

Again,  let  us  consider  that  the  field  of  this 
life  is  full  of  the  springs  of  sorrow,  and  that 
these  springs,  or  a  large  proportion  of  them, 
have  their  origin  in  the  conditions  of  its  imper- 
fection. The  pains  and  sicknesses  of  the  body, 
the  infirmities  and  errors  of  the  mind,  the  wan- 
derings and  excesses  of  the  passions,  are  all  the 
sources  of  many  and  great  sorrows,  and  of  sins 
which  are  sorrows  also.  But  these  sources  of 


AN  APPOINTMENT.  77 

sorrow  1-  •   tin*  limitr<l  condition  of  life, 

will  stop  when  that  condition  ends.      i 

ibt  discip  lul  ;  hut 

•)£  to  be  assured  that    they  will  be 
^ht  to  a  close  by  the  closing  of  that  • 
porary  arranges  which  they  ari^ 

lie  -h  they  are  bound.     Death  is  a] 

M  sorrow*  in  tin  'ini- 

;_4  this  arrangement  ;  and  it  i- 
act,  not  by  cv  hy  chan^-,  —  not  by 

ng  itself,  and  conscqut 

all  that  belongs  to  it,  hut  hy  putting  an  did  to 
a  limiti-d  sta  .m<l   all  ibles 

fill'  liifll    is    :i  !   •    cut 

i  his  otht-r,  tin1  an  :  her 

and  lining  sorrows?      The   sobs 

rs  of  widows  and  orphans,  and  those  of  < 


a 


name  among  the  bereav 

word,  an  most  for 

dear  affections  which  grow  out  of  the  consan- 

ities  and  connections  of  domestic  life  must 

Heeds    be    wounded    \vhen    those    i  are 

i»y  death.     To  I  «  arth  i> 

be  way  for  soi  ;  r  all 

who  love  must  be  parted  by  the  ^  int- 

d   to    J>n 

also  to  tins  sorrow.     It  is  ai 
state  wl 


78  DEATH  AN  APPOINTMENT. 

first,  last,  and  only  act  is  to  open  a  scene  of 
things  in  which  its  own  power  is  forever  abdi- 
cated. The  text  informs  us  that  "  it  is  appointed 
unto  men  once  to  die."  We  die  that  we  may 
die  no  more.  What  a  boundless  scene  is  opened 
by  that  word  "  once."  Years  will  roll  on,  and 
there  will  be  no  symptoms  of  old  age  or  decay ; 
centuries  will  elapse,  and  there  will  be  no  fear, 
no  thought  of  dying  ;  for  they  who  have  died 
once  shall  die  no  more,  death  having  no  place 
nor  part  in  the  dominion  to  which  he  has  brought 
them.  What  a  scene  of  enlargement  and  ad- 
vancement is  that  in  which  there  will  be  no 
decline  of  the  faculties,  no  walls  for  their  im- 
prisonment, no  chains  binding  them  to  the  set 
rounds  of  mortality.  What  a  scene  of  holiness, 
in  which  those  causes  of  sin  shall  cease  which 
now  operate  through  the  infirmities  of  the  flesh. 
What  a  scene  of  happiness,  in  which  those 
sources  of  sorrow  must  necessarily  be  dried 
up  which  now  flow  from  sickness,  from  sepa- 
ration, from  death.  We  die  once  and  but  once. 
Death  was  appointed  that  it  might  be  lost  in 
life. 

This  future  and  eternal  life  is  also,  in  all  its 
conditions,  an  appointment  of  the  same  Eter- 
nal Being  who  appoints  the  present  life  and 
death.  Judgment  is  a  condition  of  that  life. 
"  It  is  appointed  unto  men  once  to  die,  but 
after  this  the  judgment."  Death  is  done 


,17/7  AN  APPOIXTMt:\  79 

with.  i r poses  of  its  ap- 

pointment, and  ti  lite  begins  its  course 

in    \\  '•'•  of  each    soul 

may  be,  i.-ath,  we 

hut  we  know  that  the  right- 
eous God  will  judge  the  world  in  righteous- 
ness. 

Let  us  learn  to  look  on  death  as  an  I] 

as  an  appoint  >m 

Father,  who  alone  has  the  po\\ 
as  appointed  in  wisdom  and  love.  ap- 

is not  to  be  lost,  hut 

to  acquire  a  more  certain   and    distinguished 
being.    To  die  is  to  be  set  free  —  tree  from  the 

•rs  of  a  body  which  is  dying  while  it  1 
and  from   the   narrow  bounds  of  a  restricted 
.     To  die  is  to  go  with  our  con-  it MK  ( 
and  character  only  into  the  presence 
Judge.     To  ever  u  portal,  and 

a  passage  from  the  one  to  t  This 

mortal  life  is  the  portal  which  stands  before 
grand    temple   of  eternity,  and   death  is   the 
passage  between  them. 

SBTTKMBKR  12,  1841. 


SERMON  VIII. 

THE  TIME  OF  DEATH. 

A  time  to  die.  —  Eccles.  Hi.  2. 

FEW  and  simple  as  these  words  are,  they 
are  full  of  meaning.  Reflection  will  reveal 
to  us  something  of  this  fulness.  It  is  well  for 
us  if  we  be  accustomed  to  reflect,  and  do  not 
stand  among  those  who  only  perceive,  —  who 
only  see  the  surface,  the  outside,  and  there 
stop,  not  using  the  ability  and  privilege  which 
they  have  of  looking  beneath  and  within.  Yes, 
they  say,  we  know  that  there  is  a  time  to  die. 
We  are  born,  we  live,  and  then  we  must  die. 
We  know  all  this.  We  see  it  as  we  go  along. 
We  cannot  be  made  more  certain  of  it  than 
we  are.  We  need  not  be  told  that  there  is 
a  time  to  die. 

Thus  do  mysteries  seem  trivial  because  they 
are  constant,  and  knowledge  is  slighted  because 
it  is  near  ;  and  thus  are  men  satisfied  with 
mere  perception,  while  they  neglect  the  duty 


;•//.  81 

tlu_«    advantages   of  n.      Not 

that  l>e  the  only  subje 

,  :    l»ut  it  stands  to  reason  that,  if  any- 
thing deserves  to  be   ; 

whi  nates  our  earthly  existence,    and 

that  if  a  man  will    not   reflect   upon    this,    the 
i   IN  very  much  a  stranger  to 
hi>  mind. 

What  j|  the  time  of  death  ?     Is  it  am   I 
and  certain  time?     Does  it  come  at 
tienlar  age  ?      Are  all   graves   of  the   > 
length?      No.      1  ry    nion. 

tin-   in-1  to   the   dim    lin.: 

the  i  .iay  be  and  has  \>  time 

in    can-    and    -kill,    the    nurse 
and   th«-   ph\  kUBM   an  ;or  a 

little  \vl;  ,    will  so 

and  ti»r  how  long,  is  all  unknown.      Ai1.-  \varn- 
ings  given  of  that  time,  by  sickness,  l> 
ness,  l.y  appearances  of  <  Bometi] 

are  and  sometimes  they  are  not.  No 
man  can  t--ll  whether  d«-ath  will  .strike  In'm 
with  th«-  i|ni.-kn«-»  ot'  1  .  Of  menace 

and   delay  long. 

.  that    the    tini"   0  ,   as 

it   i-  -.vithin   mortal   lii 

as  it  with   any   ecrtaintv    l»e    governed 

or  re  not   in  the 

!  t    within    his    knowl- 

In    \\h«^e    Jian.i 


82  THE   TIME    OF  DEATH. 

This  becomes  the  second  inquiry.  If  there  be 
a  time  to  die,  and  yet  that  time  be  wholly 
uncertain  to  us,  and  do  not  belong  to  us,  to 
whom  does  it  belong  ?  The  question  carries 
the  contemplative  mind  to  him  who  alone 
reigns  in  the  universal  realm  of  existence,  and 
of  whom  all  life  is  but  the  breath.  The  time 
of  death  is  dependent  on  the  time  of  life,  and 
belongs  to  the  Author  and  Lord  of  life. 
"  Thou  sendest  forth  thy  spirit,  we  are  cre- 
ated ;  thou  takest  away  our  breath,  we  die  and 
return  to  the  dust."  The  life  of  every  living 
man  ;  the  death  of  every  mortal,  dying  man  ; 
multitudinous  waves,  rising,  running,  spark- 
ling, —  declining,  sinking,  lost,  —  all  unequal, 
and  all  momentary,  —  mysteries  to  each  other, 
mysteries  to  themselves,  —  these  are  all  beneath 
the  eye  and  hand  of  him  who  "  sitteth  above 
the  water-flood,"  who  ruleth  the  raging  of  the 
deep,  and  who  hears  and  comprehends  the 
ceaseless  murmur  of  the  all-encircling  and 
eternal  shore.  Life,  time,  and  death,  —  these 
are  the  whole  ;  and  the  whole  is  before  him, 
and  known  to  him,  and  subject  to  him,  and  to 
him  only.  To  him  there  is  no  distance  and 
no  dimness  on  this  ocean.  All  is  present 
and  all  is  clear.  There  is  a  time  to  die  ;  the 
time  of  change,  of  the  soul's  passage,  of  the 
second  revelation,  of  the  new  heavens  and  the 
new  earth  ;  unknown  to  all,  and  infinitely  im- 


HE   OF  DEATH.  83 

portant  to  all.  It  is  lodged,  where  alone  it 
could  be  safely  lodged,  in  the  hands  of  him 
without  whom  tin-re  would  be  no  life  and  no 

him  who  inhabiteth  eternity. 
And  sir  time  for  man   to  di.-  belongs 

not  to  man,  to  ignorant  man  \\lio  walkrth  in  a 
shad'  to  <iod,  with  whom  is  no  darkness 

at  all,  the    thoughtful    >j<int    may  thus 

far  in  its  progress  idad  in  discerning  it, 

that  whenever  this  time  comes  by  divine  ap- 
pointment, it  comes  when  it  should,  and  as  it 
should,  being  altogether  wisely  and  n 
sent.     In   this   conclusion   it  will   take   uj 

st ;  a  rest  not  to  be  <  1  by 

u-e  of  cases  in   which   the  wisdom 

and  i  •  too  deep  for  mortal  eye  to 

tongue  to  explain. 
i  would  be,  it'  in  tin-  nnmlM-r- 
less  I  A.I   \\  r  r«.nld  see  all  that 

is  seen  by  the  eternal  Disposer,  and  ha\.  noth- 
ing Irt't  there  for  the  exercise  of  faith,  trust, 

But  still,  if  we  will  con 

attei  -ve   .shall    j>ercri\r    in    many  of  tin- 

Mine  of  deatli  \\i.s«-   reasons  for 
dispensation,  and  sign-  of  th«- 

in    whose  ha-  Of    i>    tin-    tin. 

:li  a  single  d 

irn  wh.i  ..1   an  hnml>l«i  COIN  i(>- 

that  w»-  l"arn   all,   that  we  cannot 

kno  Ig,     and    we     shall     learn     full 


84  THE   TIME   OF  DEATH. 

enou  :h  for  the  satisfaction  of  our  reason  and 
the  consolation  of  our  heart. 

"  A  time  to  die."  That  time  is  often  an 
early  time,  coming  to  the  human  being  as  it 
-lies  in  a  new  and  strange  world,  all  uncon- 
scious of  this  difference  between  life  and  death, 
which  so  agitates  our  maturity.  The  voice 
whispers  in  the  infant's  ear,  "  Come  !  "  and  it 
obeys,  simply,  without  question  or  thought. 
Do  we  ask  why  so  early  a  time  is  appointed  ? 
Let  us  see  if  there  be  not  some  fitnesses  in  an 
infant's  death.  It  goes  away  in  a  sweet  season 
to  the  heavenly  world.  It  goes  in  its  inno- 
cence, and  with  its  innocence,  into  the  pure 
presence  of  its  Maker.  Its  robe  is  unspotted 
whiteness.  Beneath  this  dress  no  fear  can 
throb.  It  need  not  hide  its  face  with  its  hands. 
It  appears  calmly  in  the  great  assembly.  It 
flies  confidently  to  the  outspread  arms  of  the 
Saviour.  Without  purification,  it  takes  its 
place  with  those  who  have  been  purified  as  by 
fire.  The  sorrows,  pains,  cares,  and  sins  of 
this  mortal  state  have  never  stained  nor  touched 
it.  It  will  be  educated  altogether  in  heaven. 
What  is  there  to  offend  us  in  such  a  time  of 
dying  ?  It  is  true,  that  while  some  are  thus 
early  taken,  others  are  left  to  experience  the 
vicissitudes  of  earth,  to  enjoy  a  little,  to  suffer 
a  little,  to  struggle,  to  sin  ;  and  we  may  ask 
for  the  principle  of  the  selection.  But  we  may 


85 

not  l>o  ai  .  '  1    know-   the  souls  of  all 

his  child.  i!y  know  our  own.    Some 

while  others  die  soon.     Let  it  be 
granted,  as  in  th--  immortality  it  must 

be,  that  v  time  to  die,  an<! 

may  well  leave  the  selection  with   tin-   K 
of  spirits.       The   day  will    arrive    \\lhn    the 
princij  !••  of  the  selection  will  1.  •  onfbldecL     In 

Hit  of  heaven  we  shall  read  and  in. 
stand  it  better  than  we  could  amidst  the  shad- 
ows of  earth. 

44  A  time  to  die."      It   is  ordained  for  many 
-hall  pass  through  the  scenes  of  mul- 
tiplied   years,    and    see    the   various   changes 
which  l.elong  to  tlu»  mortal  state.     They  are 
'icy,  in  childhood,  or  in  youth, 
iirth  of  manhood  is  suffered  to  i! 
ish  and  1  lit  ;  nor  are  the  leave 

from  .  till  in  the  u^nal  course  of  nal 

tli.-v  arc  withered.  And  when  these  iml 
have  seen  all  that  life  has  to  show  ;  v 
have  be  timed  on  earth  n|>  to  the 

l>"nn«laries   nf  man's   :tL"'.  W 
i  ;  and  had  all  their  opportunities,  all  their 
ings,   and    all    the   common   discipline   of 

i  th'-ir  hodily  or  mental  p<> 
both,  arc  wearing  •  hen  th.- 

j»le  *  in  the  world 

t->    th'-m  :    when     tl 
whom  tl  iown  and  loved  best  are 


86  THE   TIME    OF  DEATH. 

gone  on  before  them,  and  they  are  almost  left 
alone,  —  is  it  not  their  time  to  die  ? 

Does  death  come  suddenly  ?  And  does 
not  the  blow  save  much  distress,  much  lin- 
gering anguish,  sleepless  nights,  and  wearisome 
days  ?  Is  the  shock  of  a  moment  to  be 
weighed  against  the  agonies  of  months,  of 
years  ?  When  we  fondly  think  of  the  happi- 
ness which  might  have  been,  let  us  not  forget 
the  misery  which  might  have  been,  had  life 
been  continued.  When  we  speak  of  that 
which  might  have  been,  we  speak  of  that 
concerning  which  our  ignorance  is  most  pro- 
found. God  knows  what  might  have  been  — 
and  God  alone. 

Again  ;  the  time  to  die  is  not  infrequently 
deferred  till  the  completion  of  a  long  term  of 
sickness  and  pain  ;  and  the  subject  of  divine 
discipline  is  ordained  to  linger  on  through  se- 
vere trials  of  body  and  mind,  now  hoping, 
now  fearing,  and  now  hoping  again,  before  the 
period  of  release  arrives.  And  is  it  not  a 
blessed  release  from  such  protracted  suffering, 
from  such  a  long  captivity  ?  May  not  death, 
now  if  ever,  be  called  an  angel,  when  it  bears 
away  on  its  wings  a  tired  soul  to  the  mansions 
of  rest  ?  As  for  the  suffering  itself,  is  it  not 
the  great  purifier,  the  most  exalting  agent  of 
God's  government  on  earth  ?  And  however 
pure  and  good  the  sufferer  previous  to  or  at 


Tin    7V.J/7.  or  I>/.\TI/.  37 

any  period  of  th<  ':ig,  bow  can  we  e 

say  that  tln>  discipline  is  needless  when  we 
are  taught  that  tin-  Saviour  himself  was  made 
perfect  through  suffering  ? 

It'  ill.'    former   quot'ion  be   here   again    ; 
Why  Midi  or  such  a  trial  is  appointed  to  one 
not  to  another?  it  may  b<  that  one 

may  be  tried  as  efficiently  by  the  absence,  as 
another  is  by  the  intlietion  of  pain.     It  is 
dent  tli;i:  if    individual- 

discipline.      Who  of   us  would    i;  Q   to 

order  the  whole  discipline  of  a  fellows-being? 
•  of  us  could  safely  order  his  <>\\  D        Why 
not  calmly  leave  it  in  the  li.i 
alone  can   order  it    nicely:   taking   care 
that  we  profit  by  it,  whatever  it  may  be.    The 
Omn  -illy  can  mid'-iMaml  who  ought  to 

be,  as  he  alone  can  determine  who  U  t 

•<•<!   in   this   way   rather    than    in   tha;.   ami 
taken  away  at  01  '..an  an- 

in  various  times  of  death  we 
can  see  manifestations  of  good. 

Ye  may  j>«-  ill  the  great 

nin-ei-tainty  and  variety  of  the  time  t->  -lie, 
advantages  of  a  more  general  character.  Con- 

!    kindly 

•  >f     ni'-ii    are    engaged    and 
brought  into  acti  the  mim 

net  <>f  d'Mth.     If 

all    Ji  at   the   si  !    in 


88  THE   TIME   OF  DEATH. 

the  same  way,  what  a  lack  of  interest  there 
would  be,  compared  with  that  which  is  now 
felt  in  this  momentous  subject  ?  How  many 
affections  would  be  left  slumbering,  which  are 
now  roused  continually  to  a  full  development 
of  their  qualities  ?  How  monotonous  would 
be  the  feeling  connected  with  the  soul's  depart- 
ure, which  is  now  exhibited  in  a  vast  diversity 
of  intense  action  and  passion  and  influence, 
informing  and  quickening  the  picture  of  human 
life,  and  instituting  no  small  part  of  human 
education  and  probation  ?  If  none  died  in 
infancy,  would  not  the  infant  be  a  less  holy 
being  than  it  now  is,  and  the  cause  of  less 
holy  thoughts  in  others  ?  If  it  were  regarded 
as  a  plant  which  was  necessarily  to  grow  up, 
and  become  sturdy,  and  bear  all  the  storms, 
and  receive  all  the  light  and  dews  and  show- 
ers of  life,  would  not  that  inexpressible  some- 
thing, that  soft  shade  in  the  heart,  be  wanting, 
which  now  flits  across  it  as  we  bend  over  the 
tender  bud  of  being,  and  think  unconsciously 
of  the  early  frost  and  the  sudden  blight  ?  Or 
should  we  not  miss  sadly  from  the  records  of 
human  sensation  those  feelings  which  arise  in 
the  breast  at  the  sight  of  a  child  on  its  bier,  — 

11  That  fairest  flower,  no  sooner  blown  than  blasted : 
That  silken  primrose,  fading  timelessly"  ? 

There  is  a  power  in  such  a  sight  which   we 
cannot  do  without.      It  melts  down  the  com- 


Til  rrr.  89 

f  lite   in    an    ins-taut  :   and    tli-- 

lianlncsx,  in  the  r  and 

•  which  it  will  not,  for  a  time  at  let*!, 
ami   nfl 

Sodden  death  :  what  call  is  there  am<>nu  all 
God'  m    s<>  distinctly    addressed    as 

,-ri- 

0118  tin 'indit   and  more  Reriou- 

were  no  suddm  deaths-,  all  miidit  teel  pri\i! 

i  could  1-  dis- 

tance.    While,  on  the  other  hand,  if  all  d- 
were  su<ld.-n,  th«i  tV-  and  coinnmnness 

of  tl  would  diminish,  ii'  nut  destroy,  ite 

startlifii:  etHcacy. 
'     D-  great  and    linger! ULT    sufi'i-rii: 

'It     \vhrll 

I  say  of  course  not  only  a 

jmrpo^'   hut  OrpO«4  :   and    tin-    wi^l«>m 

is  partly  in:miti->trd   in  this  same  appeal  which 

and  virtuous   sympathi     .       It 

IS  efipccially    in    the    rhaiuhrr   which    has    lon^ 

been  devoted  to  sickness    that   patience  hath 

its  |><  lusilly  moulds   human 

tb«   divim-   likriirss,   and    ; 

Tip-  daily  care,  the 

ni'_ditly    watch,  the   l.itt.-r   cup   ma<l«-   iwed    hy 
which    ]•:  t,   the    cm  liei- 

.     till'     sp.-rcli1  'I,.!-     nn 

th"  nth.-i-.  the    thousand    Attentions  within  fi 
th«-    r  d.  an  1    the    kind    in- 


90  THE   TIME   OF  DEATH. 

terest  expressed  from  without  by  friends  and 
acquaintance,  and  even  strangers  ;  —  is  all  this 
nothing  ?  We  may  say,  indeed,  most  natu- 
rally, that  we  would  be  spared,  and  will  pray 
to  be  spared,  these  severe  trials  ;  but  human 
life  and  society  cannot  afford  to  lose  them,  and 
the  sympathies  which  attend  them  ;  and  our 
better  prayer  would  be,  that  we  may  be  spared 
nothing  which  infinite  Wisdom  shall  see  to  be 
conducive  to  the  good  of  our  fellow-beings 
and  our  own  souls. 

Thus  it  is  with  the  other  varieties  of  the 
time  of  death.  We  shall  see  particular  affec- 
tions, rare  virtues,  special  charities,  springing 
up  everywhere  from  the  field  of  mortality,  each 
with  some  characteristic  of  the  spot  which  pro- 
duced it.  Death  runs  through  all  the  ages 
and  unites  them  all.  It  forms  and  knits  to- 
gether bonds  as  strong  as  those  it  breaks.  It 
calls  virtue  out  from  every  change  of  life,  and 
from  every  chamber  and  recess  of  the  heart. 
And  the  more  affecting  it  is  in  its  circumstan- 
ces, the  more  powerful  is  its  sanctifying  influ- 
ence ;  for  what  do  we  mean,  when  we  declare 
that  a  death  is  a  peculiarly  affecting  one,  if 
we  do  not  mean  that  hearts  are  more  deeply 
touched,  and  good  feelings  flow  forth  in  a 
richer  flood,  than  is  ordinarily  the  case  ? 

Beholding  these  things  steadfastly,  the  re- 
flecting man  never  feels  himself  more  highly 


77/7  1777.  91 

',<•  c..M   region  •  I  -  and 

above  the  hoarse  Irlity,  than  when 

hfoh 

I    hy  infidelity  to  its  own   MI; 
and  purposes.      II-   ;-   n   ' -  ••;•  more  firmly  < 

I  (iod  than  wh.-n 

'Is  and  darkness  I  1  al>«>ut  him  j 

never  loves  God  more  faithfully,  nor  adores 
him  Jy,  than  when  he  is  standing 

in  tin-  mi'Ut  -  -hadow. 

Nor    miM    it    !.«•   nmitt.-.!    that    much  of  the 
benefit  consequent  on   the  warnings 
depends    on    the    various    and    indetermi 
seas.  .      If  the  time  to 

were  one  and  the  same  ti  ;ain!y  t«>  all, 

and   that   m*r<»s<arily  at  an   advanced  a-_i •••,  in 
order  that  the  business  of    1  t  go  on, 

childhood,   youth,    and    manlio..d    wmld 
be  without   their  -M-vcial  and  espc--i:i!  <-;ills  of 
preparation.     The  general  call  would  lOttti 
A€  di-tanc.-  that   it  would  he  ! 
heede<l.     And  though  it  would  grow  louder  as 
it  drew  nearer,  the  car  would  hardl\ 

.radual  incivase  of  its  sound.  Childhood 
to  it.  Youth  would  say,  there 
and  to  -  hood 

would   dcrlan-   t!  ••  y<-t  many  J 

;  :'     by,    much 

commonly    than    it    is    now,    when    each 
separate  age  is  summoned   l.y  deathl  of  . 


"r> 


92  THE  TIME  OF  DEATH. 

If  even  now,  with  all  the  present  variety 
and  multiplied  intonations  of  warning,  men 
are  so  heedless  and  spiritually  improvident, 
what  would  they  be  were  there  no  such  calls 
to  oblige  them  to  pause  and  think  ?  What 
a  wise  provision  is  this  which  is  constantly 
throwing  in  checks  among  the  excesses  to 
which  our  nature  is  prone  !  The  young  and 
the  beautiful,  whom  youth  makes  ardent  and 
confident,  —  and  beauty  is  so  apt  to  make  vain, 
—  cannot  always  be  ardent,  confident,  and  vain. 
They  must  receive  some  lesson,  some  hint  at 
least,  of  moderation  and  humility,  with  the  not 
infrequent  intelligence  that  those  who  were  as 
young  and  beautiful  as  they  have  dropped  into 
the  tomb.  How  death  tempers  the  wildness  of 
the  world  !  In  times  of  the  most  general  gayety, 
there  are  always  contemporaneous  sorrows,  — 
some  hearts  breaking  while  others  are  bound- 
ing. While  we  look  on  gayly  thronging  crowds, 
intent  on  the  business,  the  pleasure,  or  the  won- 
der of  the  day,  we  cannot,  —  we  cannot  forget 
that  some  houses  have  their  windows  darkened 
and  their  doors  closed,  because  within  them  are 
the  sorrowful,  the  sick,  the  dead.  Thus  are  our 
passions  modulated.  Thus  does  the  low  note 
of  sadness  run  through  the  music  of  life,  heard 
in  its  loudest  swells,  present  in  all  its  vari- 
ations, uttering  its  warning  accompaniment 
throughout,  and  moderating  the  harmony  of 
the  whole. 


TIME  or  i>i  A  in. 

.ally,  does  not  God  teach  us,  by  all  the 

:y  ami   unrertainty  of  the   tii.  I    itli, 

that  i   hardly  be   brought  into  the 

estimate   <»t    <>ur   great   duties  and  <•« 
What  is  t!n»  ilitl'rivnce  of  a  few  years  in  the 

of  the  Almighty?     By  calling  us  away 
from  earth  at  all  age-,  ilv  intimates  that 

as  notli  nld  be  as  nothing  in 

our  view  as  in  his.     Mortal  i  :  a  point. 

.  is  before  us.     AH  sin  consists  in  doing  or 
purposing  now  that  which  n«  iM  have 

been  done  or  purposed,  and   in   <K  i  ning  to 
some  time  which  we  may  IK  the  do- 

ing of  that  which  should  be  done  ;  Now 

is  the  a  time;  now  is  the  day  of  salva- 

/' 

SEITKMUEU  30,  1832. 


SERMON   IX. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MOURNING. 

It  is  better  to  go  to  the  house  of  mourning  than  to  go  to  the 
house  of  feasting.  —  JEccles.  vii.  2. 

THIS  may  doubtless  seem  a  hard  saying  to 
many.  They  will  confess  that  at  some  future 
time  they  may  be  compelled  to  go  to  the  house 
of  mourning,  but  that  it  is  ever  better  to  go 
there  than  to  the  house  of  feasting  is  hard  for 
them  to  conceive. 

Appearances  sanction  their  incredulity.  The 
house  of  feasting  beams  and  sparkles  with  light. 
Exhilarating  music  echoes  from  its  roof.  Pleas- 
ant company  meet  in  its  halls,  with  smiles  and 
greetings  and  compliments.  Misery  and  care 
show  not  their  faces,  or  not  their  own  faces, 
within  its  gates.  Its  air  is  perfume ;  its  hues 
are  those  of  flowers  ;  it  is  altogether  inviting 
and  delightful.  On  the  other  hand,  the  house 
of  mourning  is  darkened  by  the  outspread  wings 
of  the  angel  of  death.  Within  its  shadowed 
chambers  are  seated  its  motionless  inhabitants, 


Till    HOUSE  OF  MOURNING. 

clad  in  the  sable  garments  of  woe.  Its  silence 
is  scarcely  broken  but  by  unhidden  sobs.  It 
seems  a  cheerless  dwelling.  Its  atmosphere 
chills  the  bosom.  The  countenances  of  its 
guests  are  sad.  Pleasure  dares  not  enter  its 
doors.  And  yet,  notwithstanding  tlir^*  ap- 
peara  -e  man  is  right.  ••  It  i>  I 

to  go  to  tli-  house  of  mourning  than  to  go  to 
the  house  of  feast  i 

II          s  not  say,  however,  nor  does  he  moan, 
that  mirth   and  enjoyment  are  criminal. 
Creator  did  not  load  m  ami   the  vines 

with  fruit  ;   1  -pie  the  hind,  the  sea, 

and   the   air  with    their    immmerahlc    throngs, 
in  ord'T  that   man.  \\lrn  is  placed  in  dominion 
1  niMitity  liih  |  contin- 

ual fa-tin--.  The  Creator  did  not  call  into  be- 
ing t  ty  of  engaging  iorm>  which 
dwell  on  earth  or  float  in  heaven  ;  nor  did  he 
cause  the  voice  of  birds  and  tin*  (low  of  waters 
and  the  ni>h  of  winds  to  make  music  together. 
in  a  •  man  should  have  a  distasteful  ear 
and  a  tuneless  tongue,  and  be  the  only  mourner 

ng  his  jovtul  creatures. 

liL'ht  beatings  of  youthful  pulses  intended  to  be 
all  repressed,  nor  the  picturing  of  the  \\arm 
imaL  tO  he  all  c«»nd«-mned,  hv  {!;«•  frowns 

of  a  When    the    prupricties  of 

to  rnjoymcn:. 
i',«s  of  Go<i'>  law  will  noi  be  trail-creased 


96  THE  HOUSE  OF  MOURNING. 

by  enjoyment,  religion  freely  says  to  us,  Enjoy. 
The  text  does  not  proscribe  the  house  of  feast- 
ing as  always  unlawful ;  it  does  not  forbid  our 
going  to  it ;  but  it  tells  us  that  it  is  better  to 
go  to  the  house  of  mourning.  And  it  tells  us 
the  truth,  —  truth  which  admits  of  satisfactory 
proof. 

It  is  better  to  go  to  the  house  of  mourning, 
because  we  obtain  more  improvement  there. 
More  valuable  lessons  are  imparted  there  than 
in  the  house  of  feasting.  Impressions  of  the 
most  solemn,  and  not  only  so,  but  of  the  most 
useful  kind,  are  received  there.  Our  roving 
thoughts  are  chastened  by  the  influences  of 
affliction.  Our  hearts  are  instructed  in  the 
sober  wisdom  of  life.  A  discipline  is  admin- 
istered which  befits  our  condition,  and  is  re- 
quired by  some  of  the  highest  wants  of  our 
souls. 

1.  The  ways  in  which  this  instruction  is 
conveyed  to  us  may  be  made  apparent  by 
reflection.  The  death  of  a  fellow-being,  the 
departure  of  one  of  our  friends  from  the  midst 
of  us,  is  calculated  to  remind  us,  more  power- 
fully than  almost  any  other  event,  of  our  com- 
plete dependence  upon  God.  Can  any  more 
important  truth  than  this  be  borne  in  upon 
the  mind  ?  And  plain  as  it  is,  do  we  not  need 
to  have  it  brought  before  us  in  such  a  manner 
that  we  cannot  put  it  by  ?  It  is  no  light  thing 


TIIK  HOUSE  OF  MOURNING. 

a  voice  whieh  for  years  has  answered  ours 

in  tli."   tones  of  social   intercourse   should  be 

nt  :  that  a  form  which  has  long  been 

ight,  perhaps  one  of  the  daily 

ings  of  our  eyes,  should  pass  away  and  be 

seen  no  more.    Then  it  is  that  we  cannot  help 

ng  how  frail  we  are  ;  and  how  far  beyond 

iivle 

which  i>  ahont  us,  to  hinder  one  after  another 
from  dropping  out  of  it,  or  to  maintain  our 
own  position  within  its  lessening  and  uncertain 
".  Who  can  stay  the  progress  of 
disease,  either  of  body  or  of  mind  '.'  Who  can 
guard  against  the  fatal  blows  of  sudden  casu- 
alty, which  leave  us  no  time  tor  care  or  for 
remedies  luith  power  over  th. 

detain  the  spi: •':        We  are  altogether  in 
hands  of  God.      He  takes  away  the   breath 
which  first  he  gave,  and  then  we  die  and  re- 

i  to  our  dust.     We  depend  on  him. 

_.    With  this  sense  of  dependence  on  God, 

comes  humility  into  our  hearts.     We  cannot 

but  divest  ourselves  m  hen  we  gaze  on 

is  and  decaying  n  lies  of 

humanity,  and  think  how  <|iiiekly  and  submis- 

all   that  lived  and  moved,  was  praised 

and  nd  waited   upon,  and  perhaps  en* 

It  up  to  become  the  spoil 

That  tin-  i>  tip-  end  of  the 

body  and  of  its  glories,  we  know.     \\'«-  know 

7 


98  THE  HOUSE  OF  MOURNING. 

\ 

also  that  the  spirit  itself  is  as  little  able  as  the 
body  is  to  choose  and  command  its  own  life 
and  destiny.  That  it  escapes  the  fate  of  the 
body  and  survives,  we  know  not  till  we  are 
told  by  the  eternal  word.  In  all  humility, 
therefore,  shall  we  consider  the  condition  of  the 
spirit,  as  well  as  the  mortal  frame  of  man,  and 
bless  God  who  has  told  us  what  we  waited  to 
know,  and  given  us  a  hope  full  of  immortality. 

3.  With  humility  comes  a  godly  fear.     We 
cannot  presume  that  our  own  life  is  more  secure 
than  was  the  life  of  the  departed  neighbor  or 
friend  ;  and  we  therefore  feel  as  if  we  ought 
no  longer  to  brave,  if  we  have  hitherto  braved, 
the  divine  forbearance,  nor  delay  the  prepa- 
ration which  we  need.     We  are  moved  to  look 
on  our  neglected  lamps,  and  resolve  to  fill  and 
trim  them,  before  the  door  is  shut  against  us 
and  we  are  left  in  outer  darkness. 

4.  With   godly  fear   come   holy  trust   and 
earnest  love.     God  is  revealed  to  us  not  only 
as  the  omnipotent  Disposer,  who  does  what  he 
wills  with  his  own,  but  as  the  Judge  of  all 
the  earth,  who  will  do  right,  and  the  merciful 
Father  of  his  children,  who  chastens  us  for  our 
benefit,  and   loves   those  whom   he   chastens. 
Such  a  Being  is  not  to  be  feared  only,  but 
chiefly  and  supremely  to  be  loved.     And  this 
is  our  conviction  in  the  house  of  mourning.    It 
is  a  fact,  and  one  which  deserves  to  be  pon- 


N 

. 

L  that  tlu»  love  of  God  is  often  deepest  in 

<.t  affliction,  and  is  of  that  confiding 

rises  superior  to  all  fear  except 

thai  which  is  endly,  and  which  inay  be  more 

distinctly  expressed  by  the  term  reverence. 

And  now  let  me  pause  to  ask  whether  these 
impressions  and  thoughts  are  not  in  the  high- 
est degree  beneficial  ?  Do  they  not  corre- 
spond with  ..in-  true  condition,  as  mortal  and 
>rtal  men  '  Hut  do  they  come  to  us  in 
the  house  of  fea-  if  they  ever  do,  it  is 

rarely  and  nn     rtainly.     There  is  no  place 
for  them,  n<  T    tlinn,  in    that  house, 

sounds  of  merriment   cha-c  them  away, 
except  from  prej  which  cannot  be 

•in  \shich    tin*  convictions 
d  state  can  never  long  be  absent, 
i  f  we  are  not  well  established,  we  are  apt 
to  I-  1  in  the  house  of  feasting, 

•tod  to  immediate  enjoyment,   we    think 
nee  it  was  bestowed,  nor  how    --ii  it 
may  be  disturbed  and  turned  into  mourn 
We  become  giddy  and  thoughtless,  if  not  ex- 
ceedingly vain  and  presumptuous.     Levity  m  ay 
be  obstinate  as  well  as  wild,  and  in 
congenial    hall     she  i<>n     and 

•>  out  wisdom.     There  is  imminent  d.-i: 

may  grow  hard  in    the   house 
•asting.     We  are  not  sensihle  then-  «.!'  mir 
>n  God,  because  we  bee 


100  THE  HOUSE   OF  MOURNING. 

customed  to  prop  ourselves  up  on  all  sides  by 
our  vanity  and  self-dependence,  and  blind  our- 
selves to  the  weakness  and  insecurity  of  such 
foundations.  In  the  house  of  mourning  our 
eyes  are  opened,  and  we  see  on  what  loose  and 
shifting  sands,  and  of  what  fragile  materials, 
our  poor  tabernacle  is  built.  We  become 
humble,  and  in  our  humility  confident  and 
secure. 

5.  But  in  pursuing  this  subject  further,  we 
shall  perceive  that,  in  addition  to  the  lessons 
already  named,  which  are  taught  us  in  the 
house  of  mourning,  we  are  initiated  into  a  dis- 
cernment of  the  true  worth  of  our  pleasures. 
We  are  taught  to  know  that  the  allurements 
with  which  many  joys  of  earth  array  them- 
selves are  very  deceptive  and  transitory.  Thus 
we  are  made  willing  to  be  weaned  from  them, 
seeing  that  they  are  not  so  desirable  as  we 
once  supposed  them  to  be  ;  that  they  have 
promised  more  than  they  can  possibly  perform  ; 
that  they  lead  to  disappointment  certainly,  and 
perhaps  to  shame.  We  see  how  devoid  of 
permanent  value  they  are,  in  their  most  inno- 
cent state,  and  how  worse  than  worthless  when 
they  unfit  us,  which  is  their  frequent  tendency, 
for  the  appreciation  and  inheritance  of  those 
real  joys  which  so  immeasurably  surpass  them. 
We  are  moved  to  ask  ourselves  how  we  can 
any  longer  be  devoted  to  those  frivolous  pur- 


TV/ A'   //" 

suits  which  now  show  themselves   in    all   • 
frivolnusness,  and  which  obtain  no  approbation 

•r  from   the  judge  in  onr  own  breast  or 
ih   in  heaven.     Such  an 
appe  urged*  is  well  fitted  to  make  us 

pause  in  a  foolish  career,  and  collect  ourselves, 
and  weigh  folly  with  wisdom,  and  vanity  with 
truth,  and  earth  with  Hea 

•'».   Apiin  :  w»-  we  in  tin-  lmu<f  <>f  m«»urmn<:, 

stronger  light  than  perhaps  anywhere  else, 
the  indispensable  importance  of  a  good  life. 

tie  is  revealed  there  in  its  true  excell 
its  fair  proportions  and  character.     All  doubt 
of  its  worth  vanishes.     All  suspicions  of  its 
reality  ar  \sed  and  forgotten.     We  are 

skeptics  no  more.     In   seriousness  and  good 
i  we  pay  to  it  our  hearts*  homage.     We 
see  that  '  notion  between  righteousness 

and  unrighteousness  is  a  real  distin<  ti<>n,  the 
most  real  of  any  ;  and  that  death  an-1  friends 
and  th«-  universal  will  iv.jnire  it  to  be  made 
ami  marked.  A  solemn  and  settled  peace 
hallows  the  remains  of  a  righteous  man,  and 

lie  grave.     Respect,  a tl 
iest  gratitude  show  themselves    true 

mere.  There  is  nothing  forced  or  affected 
in  th<>  trilmtr  which  is  n-ndcn-d.  It  i-  the 
freewill  offering  of  the  h«-:irt,  natural  and 

more    plain    an«l 
than    til--    t<-  •  -A  hich    is    LMvn    t«»    \  fa 


102  -  T//A  'T'OUSP;.  OF  MOURNING. 

in  the  house  of  mourning.  Nor  is  there  any- 
thing more  profitable.  It  confirms  those  im- 
pressions which  the  world,  by  much  of  its 
intercourse,  would  weaken.  It  establishes  a 
faith  which  the  world,  by  many  of  its  cares 
and  contentions,  would  wear  away.  It  con- 
vinces us  that  a  good  name  is  the  most  honor- 
able title,  and  that  all  the  wealth  which  ever 
occupied  the  grasp  or  the  dreams  of  avarice 
is  dross,  is  dust,  to  the  riches  of  an  upright, 
useful,  and  benevolent  life. 

7.  I  could  hardly  call  together  and  classify 
all  the  beneficial  reflections  which  are  sug- 
gested in  the  house  of  mourning.  I  will  only 
observe,  in  the  seventh  and  last  place,  that 
we  are  there  more  than  usually  disposed  to 
mutual  forgiveness  and  charity.  Can  we  nur- 
ture hostile  emotions  in  this  house  of  peace 
and  equality  ?  A.  soul  has  gone  from  it  to 
meet  its  Judge.  It  cannot  be  long  before  all 
who  are  left  to  mourn  or  sympathize  must 
follow  that  soul  to  the  only  infallible  tribunal. 
Where  will  be  our  petty  animosities  then  ? 
Where  the  disputes  with  which  we  have 
troubled  each  other's  existence  ?  Where  the 
envy  ings  and  strifes,  suspicions  and  evil  speak- 
ings, of  which  we  have  been  guilty  ?  Where 
will  they  be,  and  how  will  they  look  ?  Is  it 
right  for  us,  is  it  safe,  to  make  it  our  occu- 
pation to  multiply  sorrow  in  the  world  ?  Are 


77/A    //r/rs£   OF  MOURNING.  103 

unavoidable  miseries  of  life  enough  in 
number  -.vi-i^lit,   but  we   must   be   still 

asing  the  load  to  others  and  ourselves? 
ts  all  in  armor  sat  in  the  heathen  para- 
come  into  tin-  Christian 
heaven.      Can  we  not  forgive  offences  —  we 
who  have  so  deeply  and  continual  led? 

Can  thc«  righteous  God  be  men-iiul,  t«>  u-  un- 
merciful ?  Will  Christ  salute  us  as  blessed 
rhihlren  of  his  F  ho  have  nourish* 

our  bosoms  animosity  and  revenge  against  our 
bretl  These  and  similar  considerat 

force  themselves   upon   us   in    the    house   of 

_'.     It  would  be  strange  it  i 
us  entirely  as  soon  as  we   departed  from  it. 
It  is  mor  that  they  will  remain  with  us, 

at  least  a  little  while,  and  influence  our  con- 
t,  at  least  in  some  degree,  when  we  return 
•  the  worl«l. 

Valuable  are  the  influences  of  the  house  of 

.min;:!      It   i>  h.tt  i    that  we  should  go  to 

it  than  to  the  house  of  feasting.     The  lessons 

he  one  cannot  so  well  be  spared  as 
pleasures  of  the  <>;  :  i'easted  and  fill-  1.  un- 
checked, unalarmcd,  unsoftencd,  we  are  too 
apt  to  forget  our  dangers,  our  mercies,  and  our 
obligations.  Earthly  desires  and  passions,  tem- 
poral objects  and  interests,  claim  us  as  wl 

own.  y  seldom  dare  to  go  with 

us  to  the  mansion  of  bereavement  and  sorrow. 


104  THE  SOUSE   OF  MOURNING. 

On  its  threshold  they  loosen  their  grasp  and 
fall  back,  and  we  enter  in  alone,  to  be  spoken 
to  by  other  monitors,  to  be  sobered  and  sub- 
dued. By  the  sadness  of  our  countenances 
our  hearts  are  made  better.  We  see  light  in 
darkness,  and  hear  a  voice  of  comfort  and  joy 
from  the  chambers  of  mourning  and  death. 

JULY  29, 1827. 


M  IIMON  X. 


CONSOLATIONS  OF  RELIGION. 

Wasted  be  God,  eren  the  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
ither  of  mercies,  and  the  God  of  all  comfort,  who  com- 
forteth  as  in  all  oar  tribulation. r-  8  Cor.  I  8. 

WELL  may  we  join  in  this  ascription  of  the 
apostle,  and  say,  while  we  contemplate  the  char- 
acter and  attrihutes  of  him  whom  the  Gospel 
reveals  as  God,  Blessed  be  God  !  \\ 
consider  what  deities  they  were  whom  the 
heathen  adored  as  gods,  well  may  we  raise  our 
grateful  regards  to  the  God  an  1  1  at  her  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  say,  Blessed  be  God ! 
And  when  we  reflect  how  various  and  severe 
are  the  ills  of  this  our  mortal  life,  or  when  we 
ourselves  are  suffering  under  their  infliction, 
well  may  we  pour  out  our  souls  in  th 

lie  Father  of  mercies  and  the  (io«i  •  >}' 

all    comfort,   and   exclaim,  Blessed   be  God  ! 

Thrir.-  hlessed  be  that  gracious  and  m<    t  m  r- 

citul  H'-in^,  who  pitit'ullv  beholds  our  sorrows, 

ii      in    all    our    tribulation.      \V<« 


106  CONSOLATIONS    OF  RELIGION. 

have  need  of  comfort,  we,  the  feeble  sons  of 
men,  created  of  dust,  born  to  mourn  and  to 
die,  uncertain  in  our  prospects,  insecure  in 
our  possessions,  frail,  ignorant,  and  sinful ;  and 
there  is  not  one  of  us  who,  in  the  view  of 
what  his  situation  demands  and  what  Christi- 
anity bestows,  ought  not  to  repeat,  Blessed  be 
God  !  From  him  are  strength  and  grace, 
from  him  are  wisdom  and  power  and  victory. 
He  enlightens  and  inspires,  he  soothes  and 
saves.  He  sent  his  first-born  Son  to  redeem 
the  world ;  he  gives  his  Holy  Spirit  freely  to 
those  who  ask  it ;  he  'has  prepared  unknown 
and  inconceivable  joys  for  those  who  love  him. 
Who  will  not  thank  and  praise  his  holy  name, 
and,  joining  with  all  creatures  whose  hearts 
and  tongues  are  inspired  by  his  love,  with  all 
the  pure  and  just,  with  all  the  sanctified  and 
redeemed,  with  apostles  and  martyrs  and  saints, 
and  with  angel  and  archangel  who  surround 
his  throne,  cry,  Blessed  be  God  ! 

The  consolations  of  religion  form  a  delight- 
ful and  almost  inexhaustible  theme  of  contem- 
plation and  discourse.  The  more  they  are  con- 
sidered, the  more  full  and  abundant  do  they 
appear.  Let  us  inquire  concerning  these  con- 
solations, and  examine  what  they  really  are  ; 
and  as  we  increase  or  refresh  our  acquaintance 
with  them,  we  shall  very  probably  come  to  the 
conclusion,  that,  were  we  to  describe  Christi- 


tON.         107 

its  most  distinguishing  character! 
we  should  call  it  a  religion  of  consolati 

If  we  begin  with  tlu-  first  strps  :in«l  ]>rinci- 
pies  of  our  religion,  we  shall  perceive  comfort 
and  consolation  broadly  and  i  i  rked 

upon  them  all.     Contemplate  the  divine 
bates;    contemplate  them  one  by  one.     How 
strongly  does  each  impress  the  mind  with  the 
sentiment  of  relief  and  supp<> 

With  what  magnificent  assurance  of  protec- 
does  the  idea  of  God's  Almightiiu's- 
ml,  mak  rtain,  beyond  suspicion  or 

doul»t.  that  in  all  its  weaknesses  and  faintings 
it  will  be  nj.li'-ld  and  sustained  by  that   in 
ing  arm  which  upholds  and  sustain-  tin-  illimi- 
table creation. 

I  I«»w  does  the  attribute  of  omnipivscnr,.  W 

'"  us  about  with  safe-conduct  and  goardianr 

>hi|.  as  with   an  unassailable  host  of  heavenly 

1 1  >\v  does  it  encompass  us  « 

as  with  a  sevenfold  shield,  at  home  or  in 

foreign  climes,  on  sea  or  land,  by  night  and 

It  cannot  forsake,  though  all  else  forsake 

•annot  remove,  though  the   earth   be 

It  is  wit  li  us  every  where,  more  en- 

.•in;:  than  tin-  nv.-ran-liiiiL  LTW  tlian 

vital  air.     Who  is  alone  when  God  is  with 

him  ?     And  where  can  any  on-    !•<    where  God 

i  compassest  my  path  and  my 

!  liou  hast  beset  me  behind 


108  CONSOLATIONS    OF  RELIGION. 

and  before."  Is  there  not  consolation  in  this 
surrounding  presence,  this  impregnable  de- 
fence, this  unalienable  protection,  this  watch- 
fulness without  fatigue,  this  adherence  without 
desertion  or  change,  this  shadow  without  dark- 
ness, the  sheltering  and  nursing  shadow  of  the 
Almighty's  wings  ?  Does  not  peace  and  a  con- 
fiding sense  of  security  settle  down  on  our  com- 
forted hearts,  however  desponding  or  afflicted 
they  may  have  been,  when  we  repeat  those 
trusting  words  of  the  Psalmist,  "  As  the  moun- 
tains are  round  about  Jerusalem,  so  the  Lord 
is  round  about  his  people,  from  henceforth, 
even  forever  ?  " 

"  From  henceforth,  even  forever."  Yet  fur- 
ther treasures  of  comfort  are  contained  in 
those  last  words,  which  speak  of  God's  eternity. 
That  power  which  now  supports  will  still  sup- 
port us ;  that  presence  which  now  surrounds 
and  guards  will  still  surround  and  guard  us. 
Consoling  indeed  it  is  to  think,  that,  amidst  all 
which  changes,  decays,  and  dies  around  us,  that 
which  is  our  chief  dependence  is  immutable 
and  immortal,  not  to  be  affected  by  time,  not 
to  be  disturbed  by  adversity. 

Then  there  is  the  attribute  of  God's  omni- 
science. Great  is  the  consolation  to  be  derived 
from  the  thought  of  that  wisdom  to  which 
nothing  within  the  bounds  of  possibility  is  un- 
known ;  which  though  it  often  appoints  that 


VS    OF  RELIGION.  109 

which  afflicts  us,  always  ordains  that  which  is 

best  for  u-,  and  wr  he  mi  with 

regard  to  what  we  really  require,  however  our 

w  Mies  and  plans  may  be  contradicted  and 

\VLi:   is  the  justice  of  God  but  our  resort 
ami  redress,  and  the  clear,  interior  light  of 

whni  it  is  shrouded  to  our  eyes 
with  thickest  clouds  and  darkness?  What  is 
•  au  assurance  that  no  lasting  wrong  shall 
be  done,  or  suffered  to  be  done  to  us ;  that  our 
griefs  shall  have  their  balance  and  their  recom- 
pense ;  that  all  seeming  inequa  '!  finally 
be  smoothed  away  from  tin  jath  of  Divine 
ProN  .  ind  that  n<»  ival  injuries  shall  be- 
fall us,  except  those  which  we  inflict  upon  OUT- 
selves? 

ute   of   God's  loving  mercy  and 
kindness  is  all  consolation.      It  tells  us  of  a 

H  who  has   nothing   harsh  or  vind! 
in  his  character;   who  is  always  tender  and 
passionate  toward  us,  though  never  weakly 
usly  so;  who  pities  us  as  a  fatlu -r 
«   his  children,  and  loves  even   when  he 
chastens  us,  and  chastens  because  he  loves  us. 

Ho-.'.   c;in  the    In-art    fail   to  be   si  n-d 

and  refuse  to  be  comforted,  when  thus  it  may 

repose  itself,  with  all  its  sorrows,  burd-n-,  and 

"ii    infin  •  .•rfectioii,   <>u  the 

iinm  I  nal  ages?      Are  we 


110  CONSOLATIONS   OF  RELIGION. 

sufficiently  accustomed  to  contemplatethe  di- 
vine attributes  in  this  their  light  of  consolation  ? 
Should  we  not  attend  more  to  this  conspicuous 
and  most  adorable  characteristic  of  the  whole 
nature  of  God  ?  And  if  we  did,  should  we  not 
bear  with  a  more  resigned  and  contented  spirit, 
not  only  the  great  afflictions  of  life,  but  the 
minor  troubles  and  crosses  of  our  condition  ? 
Should  we  not  perform  our  allotted  parts  more 
patiently  and  cheerfully,  if  we  impressed  upon 
our  minds  such  an  habitual  perception  of  the 
Supreme  Being,  that  every  feature  and  mystery 
of  his  nature  should  look  down  upon  us  at  all 
times  with  the  expression  of  benignity,  protec- 
tion, and  consolation  ? 

But,  consoling  as  are  these  views  of  the 
attributes  of  God,  Jesus  Christ  has  afforded  us 
yet  more  comfort  by  the  manner  in  which  he 
has  revealed  to  us  the  Father.  No  one  can 
read  the  Gospels  with  attention  without  being 
struck  by  the  close  and  endearing  affinity  which 
is  manifested  there  between  the  Creator  and 
his  creatures.  The  interest  which  the  Great 
Supreme  is  represented  as  taking  in  us  may 
be  called,  if  it  be  not  too  familiar  to  call  it 
so,  strict  and  personal.  Our  Saviour  does  not 
so  much  give  us  general  views  of  the  nature  of 
God,  as  he  brings  the  attributes  into  immediate 
contact  with  ourselves  and  our  fortunes.  We 
behold  a  God  and  a  Father,  who  not  only  sup- 


EOLATIONS   01  ,ION.  m 

ports  us,  together  with  the  rest  of  his  creation, 
and  provides  for  us  by  that  wisdom  and  good- 
nes>  which  are  the  lite  and  joy  of  tin-  universe, 
though  the  whole  globe  which  we 
is  but  a  speck  among  his  w^orks,  and  we 
ourselves  are  so  inconstant  and  frail,  actually 
•eta  a  value  upon  us,  and  draws  himself  as  near 
to  each  individual  soul  as  if  that  one  soul  were 
the  one  object  of  his  devoted  care,  and  there 
was  nothing  else  to  share  his  ;i  .  "Are 

ye  not  of  more  value  than  many  sparrows? 
not  one  of  them  falleth   to  the  ground 

Knowledge  of  your  Father. 
very  hairs  of  your  head  are  all    numbered." 
Expressions   of  thi>  kind  occur  so  frequent  1\ 
in  the  Gospels,  that  they  throw  a  peculiar  air 
of  tenderness  o\  ,,  and  cause  them  to 

vss  a  particularity  of  regard  in  in  i  dings 
of  God  with  men,  which  i>  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  characteristics  of  those  sa 

is  of  the  whole  Christian  scln 
God  is  repn  iroughout  as  ou 

mighty  and  glorious  as  in  th<>  pictures  drawn 
by  t  ish  lawgiver,  and  the  prophets  of 

til-  old  dispensation,  but  still  as    our    friend, 
nearest  and  best  iri<  nd. 

ifl  i>,  in  fact,  the   MMO06   of  th"   doO* 
doetKbi  that  God  is  with 
us  and  within  u->,  and  always  ready,  not    i 

Ji^  with  our  and 


112  CONSOLATIONS   OF  RELIGION. 

guide  us  ;  to  suggest  to  us  those  thoughts  of 
purity  and  virtue  which  are  powerful,  like 
spells,  to  drive  away  the  dark  spirits  of  sin  and 
despair  ;  to  inspire  us  with  strength  in  the  hour 
of  weakness,  and  fortitude  in  the  time  of  dis- 
tress, and  to  shed  light  through  the  intricate 
and  gloomy  passes  of  our  earthly  pilgrimage. 
What  can  be  more  consolatory  than  to  believe, 
as  Christianity  would  have  us  believe,  that  the 
infinite  and  eternal  God  takes  this  direct  inter- 
est in  our  happiness,  and  that  he  is,  in  reality, 
watching  over  us  and  in  us,  every  moment,  to 
mark  how  we  improve  the  merciful  intentions 
of  his  discipline,  and  to  aid  every  good  disposi- 
tion which  we  may  manifest,  and  every  good 
resolution  which  we  may  form  ?  Can  that 
spirit  yield,  or  yield  long,  before  any  shock  of 
misfortune,  which  realizes  its  intimate  union 
with  the  Father  of  spirits  ?  Can  that  soul  re- 
main without  comfort  in  any  affliction,  which 
hears  within  itself  the  still  small  voice  of  God, 
whispering  compassion  and  peace  ?  Can  it 
sink  in  the  stormy  waters  when  it  may  call 
upon  its  Lord  ?  Can  he  murmur  who  can 
pray  ?  Can  the  children  of  the  bride-chamber 
mourn  when  the  bridegroom  is  with  them  ? 
When  God  communes  with  us,  and  we  with 
God,  does  not  an  elevation,  a  calm  dignity,  a 
holy  reliance,  follow  that  communion,  which 
no  grief  can  disturb  ?  Is  it  fit  that  the  friend 


113 

and    companion    of   tli     Almighty    should    be 
ived  at  outward  and  temporary  ills ?     Is 
it   In*   should  ?      I>   it    not    con 
humble  and  contrito  and  sorrow- 
';eart  that  tli-     II    '     Spirit  dwelU   in   it  as 
in  a  temple?      Shall  the  voice  of  complaint, 
shall  an  accent  of  distrust,  be  heard  in  that 
consecrated  place?      Shall  fear  ami  despond- 
appear   before   that  gracious  presence? 
None  of  these  things  can  be.     T  it  of 

God  is  e\  .as  once  at  the  holiest  of  bap- 

tisms, in  th«-  form  of  a  dove.     It  sheds  di 
peace  in  every  receiving  bosom.      It  broods 
n  fused   elements  of  the   agitated 
mind,  till  darkness  becomes  light,  and  chaos  is 
transformed  into  order  and  beauty. 

\Vith  these  sources  of  Christian  ronsohr 
is  co  ,  and   I   may  say  necessarily  con- 

nected, t       '       istian  doctrine  of  our  in: 

doctrine  is  established  by  dedne- 
aled  natmv  o\  tin-  Deity,  and 
by  the  express  declarations,  confirmed  by  the 
actual  resurrection,  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Ch 

iiing    be    true    in    ( 'hriMianity,    this  is 
;   and  it  completes  those  consolations  of 
.    which    \\ithout     it    \vmdd     1"'    incom- 
il.     Not  much  corn- 
in  sorrow  would  be  d<i  i  m  a 
•!i  of  the  constant  \\at«-liliiln«-vs  and  im- 
iiate  presence  and  j.:-..:--etion  of  Go 
8 


114  CONSOLATIONS    OF  RELIGION. 

could  be  left  to  suppose  that  death  wrested  us 
from  his  guardianship,  and  put  a  dark  and  final 
close  to  our  connection  with  his  spirit.  But 
after  what  Christianity  taught  us  of  the  Crea- 
tor, we  may  venture  to  say  it  was  impossible 
that  it  should  not  have  also  taught  the  immor- 
tality of  his  intelligent  creatures.  It  does  teach 
with  perfect  distinctness  that  glorious,  and,  as 
we  may  call  it,  finishing  truth,  that  the  exist- 
ence of  man  will  be  commensurate  with  the 
existence  of  God  ;  that  the  love  and  the  truth 
and  protection  which  the  great  Father  now 
exercises  toward  his  children,  will  lead  them 
through  the  gate  of  death  ;  and  that  the  com- 
munion which  he  now  holds  with  them,  inti- 
mate as  it  is,  will  be  yet  more  close  and  sen- 
sible when  the  Lamb  shall  walk  with  their 
refined  and  beatified  spirits  through  the  bowers 
of  an  eternal  Eden  and  the  golden  streets  of 
the  heavenly  Jerusalem.  This  is  giving  the 
seal  of  eternity  to  all  that  is  compassionate  and 
soothing  and  exalting  in  our  knowledge  of  God. 
This  is  the  key-stone  which  locks  and  binds 
together  the  grand  arch  of  Christian  consola- 
tion. When  our  tears  are  flowing  in  calamity, 
they  cease  to  flow,  or  flow  on  without  bitter- 
ness, when  we  lift  our  eyes  to  that  eternal  state 
where  they  shall  all  be  wiped  away.  We  re- 
sign our  friends,  with  hope  and  comfort  in  our 
mourning,  because  we  know  that  they  are  not 


\T10NS  OF  RELIGION.  \  \ ,, 

1  but  sleeping,  and  as  safe  in  the  arms  of 

i  hey  retired  to  rest  on  earth  after 

:ibors  of  the  day,  —  perhaps  more  safe,  for 

passion  is  hashed  ami  ion  is  over.      In 

all  our  troubles,  we  shall  regard  not  only 

wisdom  ami  kindness  of  their  purpose,  but  the 

ion  ;  and,  with  the  apostle 

Paul,  "reckon  that  tin-  MitK-rin^s  »>f  this  pres- 

are  not  worthy  to  be  compared  with 

u'lory  which  shall  be  revealed  in 

Such  are  the  consolations  of  our  religion. 

.  are  not  all,  but  may  be  account    1    the 

\ve  are  Christians,  they  are  our 

consolations,  for  they  cannot  be  separated  from 

:  iith  whieh    is   in  Christ.     And   how  can 

we  have  greater  and   better  ?     What  other 

consolations  can  we  expect  or  desire  when  we 

possess  these  ?     There  are  those,  indeed,  who, 

ting  or  slighting  these,  fly  to  other  sou 
of  comfort.     And  what  are  these  other  ?    Some 
wait  Consolations  of  time,  not  thinking 

•hese  can  arrive,  tim--  t«»  thrm  may 
be  no  more.  Some  trust  to  a  stern,  hard, 
barren  endurance.  Some  fly  to  a  criminal, 
degrading,  stupefying,  artificial  oblivion.  And 
some  even  fly  to  a  si  It  infli.  t< d  death.  Are 
these  things  to  be  called  consolations?  If 
Christian  will  never  be  si-haim-d 
OT  slow  to  j.ir  ->ide  of  tin-in  and 

I 


116  CONSOLATIONS    OF  RELIGION. 

ward  to  put  all  that  ennobles  human  nature 
by  the  side  of  all  that  debases,  or  excites  but 
to  depress  it ;  all  that  unites  it  with  God  and 
heaven  and  eternity  by  the  side  of  all  that 
drags  it  down,  and  binds  it  down  to  sensuality 
and  earth  and  time  and  dust.  He  will  stand 
upon  his  faith  and  the  consolations  of  his  faith, 
feeling  that  he  stands  upon  a  height  supernal, 
immovable,  everlasting. 

MAY  10, 1829. 


SERMON  XI 


BLESSING  GOD  IN  BEREAVEM1 

The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away ;  blessed  be  the 
name  of  the  LonL— Job  i.  31. 

CAN  we  adopt  this  sentiment  of  the  atlli- 
patriarch  in  our  losses  and  afflictions?      Can 
we  say,  as  well  when    tin-   Lord  takes  away 
as  win  MI  hr  gives,  Blessed  be  his  name  ? 

It  is  easy  to  bless,  easy  to  understand  why 

we  should  bless,  easy  to  acknowledge  that  we 

ought  ferv.Mitlv  to  bless,  when  the  Lord  gives  ; 

but  do  we  not  hesitate,  question,  doubt,  prac- 

ly  refuse  to  render  that  offering,  wln-n  the 

same  Lord  who  has  given,  and  given  all,  takes 

away  even  but  a  part?      When  tin    ti.  Id  of 

possessions  lies  ample  and  green   before 

us,  and  everything  prospers  which  we  touch  ; 

when  we   go   abroad    to    successful    bush 

happy  meetings,    or    healthful    exercise,    and 

m  to  a  home  where  every  place  is  filial, 

every  face  wears  a  smile  and  a  welcome,  and 


113        BLESSING   GOD  IN  BEREAVEMENT. 

the  whole  air  is  pervaded  by  comfort  and 
cheerfulness  ;  then  we  readily  allow  that  we 
should  bless  the  name  of  Him  by  whom  all 
this  is  caused  and  given.  We  may  be  defi- 
cient in  gratitude,  and  in  the  expression  of  it, 
but  at  the  same  time  acknowledge  that  we 
ought  to  be  deeply  grateful.  When,  however, 
the  scene  is  changed,  and  our  prospect  be- 
comes bare  and  wintry  ;  when  distress  meets 
us  in  the  countenances  of  those  we  love,  cast- 
ing its  shadow  on  our  own  countenance  and 
heart  ;  when  a  place  is  made  void  in  our 
dwelling,  which  we  had  been  long  accustomed 
to  see  occupied  by  a  form  familiar,  endeared, 
bright  with  kindness  and  sympathy,  —  can  we 
be  grateful  then  ?  Can  we  bless  the  name 
of  the  Lord  then  ?  Why,  indeed,  should  we 
be  grateful,  or  attempt  to  be  so  ?  What  rea- 
son is  there,  we  may  ask,  that  we  should  bless 
the  name  of  the  Lord  for  affliction  and  death  ? 
Bear,  we  may  ;  submit,  we  may  ;  be  resigned, 
we  may  ;  —  but  why  should  we  bless  for  dark- 
ness and  for  suffering  ? 

Let  us  answer  that  question  to  our  reason 
and  our  hearts.  Taking  especially  the  case  of 
the  death  of  friends,  let  us  consider  whether, 
when  we  lose  even  the  best,  the  dearest,  there 
is  not  occasion  for  gratitude  and  thanksgiving. 
We  shall  find  upon  reflection  that  death  is  not 
merely  to  be  held  as  a  loss,  either  to  those  who 


;OD  IN  BER1  .       n  , 

or  those  who  survive;   that  dvath  in:; 

significant  of  gain,   inueh  ruthrr  than  of  loss, 

to  tl:  ted  and  the  bereaved  :  that  while 

ii   OIK-   hand,    it   quirkrns  renews, 

and  transforms  with  the  other;  that  while  it 

us  of  some  things,  it  endows  u  with 

many  more,  and   more  valuable   things  ;  and 

that  in  tl  there   U  ample  cause  to  bless 

name  of  the  Lord  when  he  taketh  away, 

both  on  account  of  those  who  are  taken  and 

of  tho>e  who  are  left  mournim;  behind. 

Death  is  a  benefactor  to  those  who  die.    For 
Is  our  Maker  has  implanted  w  ith- 
in  n-  a  -trong  love  of  life,  of  lite  even   in  this-* 
world;  a  love  of  life  so  strong,  that  in 
cases  we  could  hardly  be  indmvd  t<>  <! 
for  ourselves  the  precise  moment  of  rendering 
it  back.     And  therefore  the  Maker  himself  de- 
inom.-nt  for  US.      And  N\h«-n  : 
in  God's  own   time, 

them  that  they  should  go  away;  because 

always    best    that  they  should   depart    this   life 

for  whom  a  higher  life  is  prepared.     An  ex- 

:>ge  of  worlds  is  best  even    f«.r  th.^-   who 

grossly  abu  present  life;  because 

'in  wh.-n    the 
pn.liation    has    been    suflieientlv 

Soffiei'-ntly  tri'-d,  and    \vln-n    'h-1  dlSCtplllM   and 

awards  o  >h<  nld  in  \. 


120        BLESSING   GOD  IN  BEREAVEMENT. 

mystery  be  commenced.  But  most  surely  is 
the  exchange  best  for  the  good  ;  for  those  who 
have  sought  the  Lord's  favor  on  earth  ;  for 
those  who  in  meekness  and  kindness  and  pa- 
tience, in  sincerity  and  godliness,  have  been 
made  "  meet  to  be  partakers  of  the  inheritance 
of  the  saints  in  light."  Is  this  world  all  ? 
Certainly  not.  They  never  considered  it  as 
all.  They  never  considered  it  as  anything  in 
comparison  with  the  world  to  come.  They 
knew  its  glories  to  be  shadows.  They  felt  its 
joys  to  be  fleeting.  They  had  enjoyed  seasons 
of  revelation  in  which  glimpses  of  heaven  had 
been  opened  to  them,  and  assurance  had  been 
given  to  their  inmost  heart  that  they  were  born 
to  higher  knowledge,  and  purer  bliss,  and  wider 
freedom,  and  closer  intimacy  with  God  and  their 
Saviour,  than  could  be  afforded  them  on  earth ; 
and  therefore  it  was  their  faith,  their  choice, 
their  hope,  that  they  should  not  be  always 
bound  to  earth,  but  should  one  day  be  called 
to  rise  up  and  claim  their  inheritance.  In  this 
conviction  they  had  lived.  By  this  conviction 
they  had  been  helped  to  bear  their  trials,  and 
distribute  their  charities,  and  extract  a  sweet- 
ness out  of  every  lot.  In  this  conviction  they 
had  died ;  supported  in  suffering,  calm  in  the 
last  conflict,  looking  for  light,  yielding  up  their 
souls  and  their  soul's  possessions  into  the  hands 
of  God.  And  now  that  the  conviction  has 


/?/..  OD  JX  I, 

;lu»  holy  dead,  and  that 
was  hope  has  be  liiion,  are  they  not 

es   blessing   God   for    his    un-ju-akaMr 
:  and  shall  we  not   j*>in  \vith  tln-m  in  bless- 
ing his  holy  name  ?     As  we  love  them  and 
i-lu'i-Mi  tlii-ir  memory  and  revere  tlu •; 
we  u  >t  contradict  them,  we  would  n«>t 

praises  they  are  singing,      it  is  to 
lu'uvi-iily  Father  and  not  to  a  stranger,  to 
>  house  and  not  to  a  strange  and 
doubtful  place,  that  they  have  gone.     It  is  the 
Lord  and  none  other,  th«-  infinitely  wise  and 
gracious  Lord,  who  has  taken  them  away  and 
taken  tl  If;   and  it  is  but  a  meet 

recommit!  wisdom  and  his  goodness,  and 

.<•   happiness   \\liidi   IK*  has  bestowed  on 
those   whom   we   love,   that   we    should    say, 

"ssed  be  the  nam  »rd  !  " 

And  for  what  did  we  pray,  \\lun  we  first 

were  made  aware  that  our  friends  were  alxait 

ive  us  ?     When  we  knew  them  to  be,  as 

ly  expressed,  in  dang«  u  we 

ness  and 

hanl   it  w«»nl«i   be  to  part  with   them,  for 
what  did  we  pray  '    In  tin   impulse  of  <>m 

Miivly  withnut  Ijlamr,  we  prayed  that 

i    j.rrmitS    US   80    tO    ]• 

Delves  and  for  our  In 

WL-  have   much  tu  do  in   :  .md    niU' 


122        BLESSING  GOD  IN  BEREAVEMENT. 

learn  and  much  to  receive;  and  the  domes- 
tic relations  are  very  dear,  and  the  household 
affections  are  very  strong.  We  prayed,  as  we 
hung  over  them,  that  they  might  live.  And 
the  prayer  was  granted,  —  not  to  our  desire, 
but  to  our  need,  —  not  to  the  temporal  mean- 
ing of  our  words,  but  to  their  better  and  eter- 
nal meaning.  A  life  was  granted  them,  pure, 
free,  safe,  real,  unlike  that  "  death,  called  life, 
which  us  from  life  doth  sever,"  —  life  in  a  better 
world,  a  fairer  country,  a  healthier  clime.  No 
cold  is  there,  nor  blight ;  no  tears,  no  pride,  no 
penury.  Life  has  there  a  clearer  and  fuller 
meaning  than  it  can  have  here.  The  epithets, 
dim,  uncertain,  troubled,  transitory,  can  no 
more  be  applied  to  it.  No  longer  can  it  be 
compared  to  a  vapor,  a  dream,  the  path  of  an 
arrow,  a  pilgrimage  in  the  desert.  It  is  life 
eternal  and  blessed.  This  was  the  life  which 
was  given,  instead  of  that  which  was  asked. 
"  He  asked  life  of  thee,  and  thou  gavest  it 
him,  even  length  of  days,  forever  and  ever." 
One  upward  thought,  one  Christian  reflection, 
will  show  us,  that,  when  our  righteous  friends 
have  been  taken  away  by  commission  from 
above,  we  should  say,  for  their  sakes,  "  Blessed 
be  the  name  of  the  Lord !  " 

Should  we  not  also  say  it  for  our  own  sakes  ? 
For  what  should  we  bless  the  Lord  more  sin- 
cerely, more  fervently,  than  for  the  confirma- 


v;   GOD   IK 

<»f  our  religious  convictions;  for  the   in- 
•j'tli  of  our  best  affections ; 
nlargement  of  our  experi-  dis- 

cipline of  our  passions,  the  growth  of  our 
itu:il    Mtaref     And  I   all   tlii 

safed   as    it    is   in    the    time  of  berea\ 

•Mat  we  gain  a  large  sup- 
<>f  life's  true  wisdom,  and  are  convinced 

I 
,  that  our  hearts  are  strongly  stirred,  and 

>  of  feeling   pour   forth  all   t 
waters.  :'  we  have   long   been  estab- 

lished and  settled  in  the  principles  of  a  holy 
faith,  yt  the  worth  of  those  principles  is 
_'ht  home  to  us  as  it  was  never  before, 
acquiring  a  new  addition  of  personal  and  prac- 
tical .  :ni'l  m:r  I  0  our  rerj 

1    if,  unhappily,  the  world  has 
!>een  u  too  much  with  us  "  ;  if  fa- 
has  been  doing  its  utmost  to  make  us  frivolous; 
.in  1  thrir  selfishness  has 
been  ^-n-ihiliti'-s   an«l 

to  render  as  skeptical  concerning  -piriiual  in- 
terests and  heavenly  ti-.-asures ;  there  is  some- 
thin  season  of  dome 

nly  melts  aw  «•  which  has 

been  curdling  round  our  hearts,  and  sets  our 

free.     Shall  not  the 

'      Oh  that   tin-  tmirji 

:'  the   hour  u. 


124        BLESSING  GOD  IN  BEREAVEMENT. 

abide  !  But  too  often  the  good  impression  of 
the  time  is  suffered  to  fade  away,  and  the 
world  to  resume  its  power,  and  the  ice  again 
to  curdle  round  the  heart. 

If  it  should  be  so,  the  fault  is  only  ours. 
Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord  for  the  word 
which  he  has  spoken,  whether  we  have  heard 
or  whether  we  have  forborne  to  hear,  whether 
we  have  remembered  or  whether  we  have  for- 
gotten it. 

He  teaches  us  plainly,  by  taking  away  our 
righteous  friends,  that  there  is  a  preparation  to 
be  made,  and  that  our  friends  have  made  it. 
He  causes  us  to  feel  that  virtue  and  godliness 
are  the  greatest  gain  that  can  possibly  be  gath- 
ered ;  that  wealth  is  not  valuable,  that  earthly 
renown  is  not  to  be  mentioned,  that  learning  is 
folly,  that  genius  itself  is  emptiness,  compared 
with  Christian  holiness.  Those  may  be  and 
have  been  abused,  and  turned  to  the  worst 
and  lowest  uses;  but  this  is  always  pure  and 
incorruptible.  By  those  we  may  have  been 
hurt  and  wronged,  but  never  by  this,  which 
has  never  been  near  us  but  to  help  us  and 
soothe  us.  Those  cannot  pass  beyond  the 
grave,  and  must  be  left  on  earth  where  they 
belong ;  but  this  passes  with  the  spirit,  holi- 
ness passes  with  the  emancipated  spirit,  through 
the  gates  of  death  to  the  bosom  of  the  Father. 
The  Lord  has  taught  us  what  is  truly  endur- 


OD  AV  /  MEXT.        125 

He  has  taught  us  impressively  and  at 
home.     Blessed  be  his  name ! 

A  check  has  been  interposed  in  our  path.    A 
shadow  has  been  thrown  across  it.     The  sun 
of  life  lias  set  for  this  day,  and   the  darkness, 
•mes  down  invites  us  to  reflect  on  our 
way,  and  reveals  to  us  the  stars  of  heaven.     1 1 
is  a  check  which  we  would  not  have  invited,  a 
ness  which  we  would  not  have  chosen  ;  but 
our  spirit  within  us  acknowledges,  in  its  own 
more  sobered  state,  in  the  multitude  and  ful- 
ness of  its  retired  though:  tone 
and  more  humble  and  charitable  dispositions, 
uses  of  the  ordination  which  has  been  laid 
upon  us.     Taught  by  sorrow,  we  know  !>• 
how  to  sympathize  with  the  sorrow  of  others, 

value  of  otl 

sympathy.     This  truth  is  Irarnrd  in  stillness. 

h"l>es  break  out  ii]».n  us  from  above,  of 

which  we  hardly  knew  the  glory  before;  and 

we  learn  that  the  day  has  one  sun,  but  that  the 

t  has  many.    This  truth  is  learned  in  <! 
ness.     The  Lord  is  teaching  us  by  bereaven 

to  "ur  Brethren  and  more  faithful 
inself.     Blessed  be  his  name  ! 

ii  if  we  should  not  be  able  distinctly 
to  specify  and  <  numerate  to  ourselves  tin 
efits    wh:  to   our    souls    in 

season  of   bereav  tin  re   is  always 

can  draw,  <>f  tin- 


126        BLESSING  GOD  IN  BEREAVEMENT. 

simplest  nature,  and  calculated  to  be  of  the 
greatest  service.  The  Lord  gave  us  our  friends. 
He  gave  us  those  dear  ones  whose  communion 
with  us  has  constituted  so  great  a  part  of  our 
happiness.  For  what  purpose  did  he  give  them, 
and  with  what  intention  ?  Certainly  for  our 
benefit,  and  to  do  us  good,  and  because  he 
loved  us.  This  we  know  from  our  experience. 
Why  then  did  he  take  them  away  ?  Not  with 
a  different  purpose  surely.  It  is  the  same 
Lord.  He  did  not  give  with  one  intention, 
and  take  away  with  another  which  is  contrary 
to  it.  He  did  not  give  to  do  us  good,  and  take 
away  to  do  us  harm.  Now,  as  before,  there  is 
love  and  love  only  in  his  heart  toward  us. 
Let  us  feel  that  God  is  always  love,  and  can  be 
nothing  else,  and  we  can  say,  even  though 
blind  and  in  tears,  Blessed  be  his  name  ! 

With  the  Gospel  in  our  hands,  with  Christ 
to  guide,  with  his  saints  to  cheer  us,  let  us  try 
to  be  at  least  as  elevated  in  our  views,  at  least 
as  spiritually-minded,  as  that  afflicted  and 
chastened  patriarch  whose  words  we  have  bor- 
rowed ;  at  least  as  wise  and  calm  as  that  old 
man  of  a  long  departed  age,  lord  of  tents  and 
flocks,  sitting  in  twilight,  before  the  day-spring 
from  on  high  had  risen  on  those  eastern  plains. 
If  he,  in  the  time  of  dimness,  could  see  cause 
to  utter  that  beautiful  form  of  faith  and  sub- 
mission, we  surely  may  repeat  it  in  light.  As 


\'G  GOD   7.V  BEREAVEMENT.        127 

•id  its  essential  relations,  they  are  the 
•  now  as  they  were  then  :  and  death  and 
are  the  The  messen- 

gers of  sorrow  and  calamity  came  to  him  one 
after  i,  announcing  bereavement  i 

till  he  found  himself  tripped  and 

destitute  ;  and  so,  in  our  own  day,  does  one 

affliction  often  press  hard  on  the  footsteps  of 

ther,  with  a  suddenness  and  rapidity  which 

confuse  and  bewilder  us.    But  it  is  the  Lord  of 

md  «l--ath,  eternally  enduring  from  age  to 

age,  who  sent  those  calamities  to  him,  and  who 

eated  afflictions  to  many  in  these  lat- 

.     The  only  ditl'nvnre  is  that  faith  has 

a  cl«  :<>n  now,  and  stands  on  a  stronger 

foundation.     The  irrave  is  as  near,  but  hea\  <  n 

is  n<  <-ause  the  grave  lias  been  opened 

IG  Son  of  God.     And  more  fervently,  and 

fcrith  a  more  cheerful  h'-arr,  should  \\v,  in   «.ur 

sorrows,  bless  the  name  of  the  Lord,  because 

•  •d  by  us  the  God  and  Father  of  our 

m*  Chr 

SEPTKMBEB,  23, 1838. 


SERMON   XII. 


REMEMBRANCE  OF  THE  RIGHTEOUS. 

The  righteous  shall  be  in  everlasting  remembrance.  —  Psalm 
cxii.  6. 

THE  earth  holds  many  more  inhabitants 
than  those  who  walk  upon  its  surface  in  ma- 
terial shape.  The  human  forms  which  at  any 
given  period  dwell  on  it  visibly  together,  are 
but  a  part  of  its  mighty  population.  Graves 
and  tombs  hide  its  dead  from  sight,  but  not 
from  memory ;  from  the  outward,  but  not  from 
the  inward  eye.  Neither  the  green  turf  nor 
the  salt  wave  can  effectually  separate  the  dead 
from  the  living ;  the  dead,  who  live,  from  the 
living  who  must  die.  Generations  of  men  suc- 
ceed each  other,  but  do  not  wholly  pass  away. 
Multitudes  of  those  who  were,  remain  to  the 
thoughts  and  affections  of  the  multitudes  who 
are,  and,  by  the  mind's  survey  and  computa- 
tion, to  be  numbered  with  them.  "  The  right- 
eous shall  be  in  everlasting  remembrance." 

And  as  death  is  not  oblivion,  we  may  be  led 
to  hope,  even  from  this  fact,  that  it  is  not 


f£     129 

desti  ad   live  on  earth.      The 

atural  and  necessary  power,  pre- 

Q    annihilation.       I>   n<»t    t: 

suggestion    at   least,   that    they  actually,   con- 

i-ly  live?     Memory  is   an    intimation,  a 

shadow,  a  kin  ion  of  immortality.     The 

if  of  man  refuses  to  consider  tin-  old  times 

as  wholly  blank  an«l  \oid,  a«  utterly  >ilent.      Ii 

sees  forms  which  have  ceased  to  be  corporeal ; 

•  which    f..r 

n  with  tongues.     It  •  ;  a-t  with  the 

lligence  which   once  existed,  and 

which    it   will    not    Miller    to    become   extinct. 

Does  not  the  soul  thus  point  out  and  claim 

itself   its    immortal    affinities?     Arc    n<>t 

|g    and    holy    union    and 

between  memory,  which  looks  back  and  tells 
of  that    which    is    pun-,    and    faith    and    hope, 

!i   look   1  ,md    proclaim    that    \\ 

is  coming  ?     It  seems  to  me  that  the  acts  of 
memory  are  of  t:  '.ini- 

tially worked   for    tin;    conviction    of  unhdicf. 
y  may  not  faith  and   hope  raise  the  dead 
when  memory  does  raise  tin  m  | 

•Hasting  re- 

I-     i      tb«J    who    come    to    the 
who  are 

;    with    a    holy,    liMii-.    ••mhalming 
1  '        n    ar-1    i  \vith 

a    lii  '-ranee,  -  i-  d    to    be 

9 


130      REMEMBRANCE  OF  THE  RIGHTEOUS. 

doomed  ;  according  to  that  scripture  which 
saith,  "  The  memory  of  the  just  is  blessed  ; 
but  the  name  of  the  wicked  shall  rot." 

When  we  come  to  survey  them,  how  vast 
are  the  numbers  of  those  who  live  in  memory. 
They  emerge  from  the  dimness  of  the  primitive 
generations  ;  they  come  from  the  farthest  isles  ; 
they  start  up  from  among  heaps  of  ruins  which 
once  were  cities ;  they  rise  from  old  battle- 
fields, from  village  churchyards,  from  the 
depths  of  seclusion,  from  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 
They  fill  the  earth  with  immortal  souls.  Their 
memory  is  blessed.  The  present  generation, 
as  it  names  their  names  and  recalls  their  vir- 
tues, would  not  and  cannot  divest  itself  of  the 
impression  that  they  are  in  being,  and  that 
itself  is  not  here  alone,  but  surrounded  by  an 
innumerable  company. 

I.  The  world  has  a  memory,  whereby  it 
treasures  up  the  names  and  deeds  of  those  who 
have  been  its  lights,  its  ornaments,  its  benefac- 
tors. It  holds  in  everlasting  remembrance 
those  who,  while  they  walked  on  earth,  walkec 
with  God,  and  served  their  age.  It  remem- 
bers the  sages  who  have  framed  wise  and  equal 
laws,  who  have  originated  and  carried  into 
effect  useful  inventions,  who  have  been  instru- 
mental in  banishing  cruel  or  degrading  super- 
stitions, who  have  taught  the  truth  in  love.  It 
remembers  those  noble  spirits  who  have  been 


>cs.    131 

tliful  am  !:iitliK>s,  pure  among 

iditful  among  the  thoughtless  ; 
those  martyrs  who  have  laid  down  their  lives 
•ruth  and  freedom;  those  great  and  good 
.  who  in  any  and  every  way,  by  resisting 
ession,  by  relievini:  distress,  by  emancipat- 
ing th'-  pri-nnrr,   l.v   instructing  the  ignorant, 
_r  peace  and  salvation  to  those  who 
are  near  and  those  who  are  afar  off,  have  con- 
ited  to  the  intelligence,  virtue,  and  happi- 
ness  of  their  race.     As  the  world  grows  wiser 
ivmmihers  with  increasing  regard 
those  who  were  once  persemt.-d  l.\  it  for  right- 
eousness9 sak  members  and  blesses  those 
whom  it  once  reproached  and  made  to  suffer 
!ly,  because  they  were  more  just  and 
righteous  than  itself;  while  it  permits  ro: 
ness  to  creep  insensibly  o\  names  of  the 
.cd,  however  proud  and  rmowned  they  may 
have  been. 

1 1.    1  he  number  of  those  who  live  in  remem- 
l>i;ui  •    increases  bef<>!  In -n  we  consider 

th:it  th<'  several  nations  and  smaller  communi- 
ties of  the  earth  have  each  a  memory  for  those 
who  are  seldom  or  never  mentioned  or  known 
r    respective    boundari«-<.       li"\\ 
i  and  the  hoi  my 

id  benevolent  and  devoted,  who 

honor  and  long  remembrance  in 
those  sections  of  the  globe  wl, 


132     REMEMBRANCE   OF    THE  RIGHTEOUS. 

and  virtues  have  been  exhibited,  and  their  du- 
ties have  been  done.  Names  are  household 
words  in  one  country  or  district,  which  have 
not  reached  to  another,  and  which  yet  are  alto- 
gether worthy  of  their  local  shrines.  Every 
city  has  its  list  of  scholars  and  orators  and  phi- 
lanthropists and  eminent  men.  Every  village 
can  reckon  its  patriarchs,  its  teachers,  its  saints. 
The  images  of  all  these  occupy  their  wonted 
places.  Their  spirits  are  attached  to  their 
familiar  haunts,  and  are  seen  among  them. 
And  thus  their  good  influence  remains,  after 
their  good  work  is  accomplished.  Much  of  the 
virtue  of  the  present  generation  is  derived  from 
the  remembrance  of  the  righteous  departed ; 
for  the  remembrance  of  the  righteous  is  a  re- 
membrance of  righteousness,  of  that  which 
caused  them  to  be  remembered.  It  comes 
clothed  with  holy  associations,  which  are  all 
the  more  holy  as  the  garment  of  the  flesh  has 
been  removed.  It  increases  the  number  of 
virtuous  thoughts.  It  may  be  brought  to  the 
aid  of  virtuous  resolutions.  It  is  a  pure  me- 
morial, which  operates  as  an  inducement  and 
encouragement  to  purity,  and  as  a  check  upon 
impure  suggestions  and  unworthy  conduct.  It 
is  indeed  one  of  the  richest  portions  of  that 
inheritance  which  is  left  by  one  generation  to 
another.  And  thus  not  only  is  the  memory  of 
the  just  blessed,  but  they  who  cherish  it  are 


mora, 

-it  is  blessed.    Happy 

it  people  who  have  many  righteous  to  re- 

\vho  preserve  the  remembrance  of 

with   care   and    reverence.      And   happy 

.  convinced  tliat   all   fame  is  ] 
xired  with  the  remembrance  of  the  ri 

it    their   chief  ainhition  to  secure 

'•••memhrance.    Whatever  some  may  think, 

!y   remembrance  which    shall    be 

ever'  -  the    only    remembrance    which 

ins  the   elements  of  life  and  honor  and 

blessing  for  evermore. 

III.    A-  dwdkn  in  this  world  for  a  season, 

as  pilgrims  pa <-MUL:  through   it  in  our  turn,  we 

.!.!.••!•  tlioM*  who  have  passed  on  before  us, 

and    who    live    in    the   world's    memory.       As 

members  of  subordinate  communities,  we  ra- 

the    names  which   are   sanctified    in 

those  communities.     But  these  are   1. 

II  who  are  remembered     Kadi  d 
is,  each  separate  family,  has  a  in< -m 
torms  which  are  retained  U  it   are,  of 
all  others,  the  most  distinct,  the  most  vivid,  and 
most  dea;  at   numhers.   what   num- 

bers are  they  of  whom  the  world  has  in- 
heard,  and   ii.-\ «-r  will  h«-ar,  Imt  who  live  for- 
ever in  th«-  bosoms  of  kindn-.l.      lirneath  c- 
dom  f  there  are  more  than  are  cou 

by  the  strani.  tln-rc  whom  he 

does  not  see,  0  are  never  far  from  the 


134     REMEMBRANCE  OF   THE  RIGHTEOUS. 

eyes  of  the  household.  He  does  not  see  the 
sprightly  child,  who  once  was  there  in  mortal 
health  and  beauty ;  but  the  child  is  yet  there 
in  spiritual  presence  before  the  vision  of  father 
and  mother,  and  wherever  they  may  go,  will  go 
with  them.  He  does  not  see  the  venerable 
form  which  once  sat  there  in  placid  love  and 
dignity;  but  it  has  not  departed  from  that 
house  ;  son  and  daughter  behold  it ;  it  looks 
on  them  with  wonted  kindness,  and  speaks  to 
them  still  the  words  of  counsel.  He  does  not 
see  the  devoted  wife,  whom  once  he  might 
have  seen  there,  the  presiding  spirit  of  order 
and  comfort  and  peace,  ruling  her  children  with 
gentleness  and  discretion,  and  causing  her  hus- 
band to  realize  what  a  refuge  and  sanctuary 
and  heaven  on  earth  is  home  ;  but  from  that 
home  she  has  not  wholly  departed,  nor  will 
ever  depart,  for  her  remembrance  is  there  per- 
petually. Though  the  body  has  been  borne 
for  the  last  time  from  its  doors,  her  spirit  re- 
mains in  its  influence  over  the  affections  and 
the  deportment  of  the  living.  To  them  she 
utters  her  voice,  and  by  them  she  is  heard  ; 
and  the  husband  is  not  wholly  alone,  and  the 
tender  minds  of  the  children  are  moulded  in- 
sensibly by  the  very  name  of  her  who  watched 
over  their  infancy.  There  is  something  of  this 
in  every  house  which  love  and  virtue  entitle 
to  the  name  of  home,  in  every  family  where 


IEMBRAXCE  OF    77/A  RIGHTEOUS.      \ ;;;, 

mortality  has  taught  tin*   lessons  of  immortal 

and  !:••  'S  are  on  the  stair,  l>u 

•  mmnn  eai-N  ;  and  familiar  places  and  ol>- 
•ore  familiar  MniU-s  ami  trars,  and  acts 
»,  which  are  se«  tlone. 

-hall  rniiin  blessed    multitude   of 

those  who,  dead    to  all  <  In-idr,  live 

alwa\>  in  the   In-art N   ,,{    th.,^  who   kn 
and  loved  th. 'in. 

IKM!V  may  be  far  distant,  but  tin    xj.irit 
is  brought  near  by  i  ,  and  d 

at  home.     Tin-  umi  tal  remains  ol 
may  be  covered  by  a  .and  strange 

.less  feet  may  -\  the  spot  where 

it    the    soul    returns 
coiiiiniiiu-s  with   its  own  kin.; 
whirh    wa-  ible    may    h:>  • 

;.,    and    tiu-    tra<-k    of  the 

receding  vessel  be  the  only  pain   to  tin-  place 

M-pultmv  ;    hut    the    waves    rammt     roll 

and   impcn>habk'  >j.irit.      1  !•• 

who  was  absc»nt,  i>  |  s  of 

..old  him  uuclian_ 

IV.    I  have  said  that  the  world  has  a   m«  m- 
;:innity     nf    m--n     has    its 

v  ha-   it>  memory  ; 

and   that  by  all    th«-M«    th  ;i>  are 

lint      f-iin 

.^persed,  and  obli: 
rise  and    tall,  and    their   n  per- 


13G     REMEMBRANCE  or  Tin:  luaiTr.ous. 

ishes  with  them  ;  and  the  world  itself  shall 
grow  old  and  languish  and  die.  \Vhat  then 
should  we  he,  and  what  would  even  righteous- 
ness avail,  if  there  were  no  other  memory  hut 
that  of  our  friends,  our  country,  or  the  world  ? 
But  there  is  One  who  will  endure,  though 
the  earth  and  the  heavens  shall  perish,  —  the 
First  and  the  Last, —  of  whose  years  there 
shall  be  no  end.  Pie  remembers  his  creatures 
with  an  all-comprehending  and  eternal  mem- 
ory ;  and  especially  he  remembers  those  who 
remember  and  put  their  trust  in  him.  "Mem- 
ories on  earth  go  out,  one  after  another,  like 
lamps  when  there  is  no  one  to  feed  them  ;  but 
in  heaven  they  are  more  lasting  than  the  stars, 
and  they  burn  in  fadeless  lustre  around  the 
throne  of  the  Almighty.  "  Our  clavs  arc 
gone  like  a  shadow,  and  we  are  withered  like 
grass  ;  but  thou,  O  Lord,  shalt,  endure  for- 
ever, and  thy  remembrance  throughout  all 
generations."  Blessed  hope,  glorious  truth  ! 
the  righteotlfl  shall  be  in  everlasting  remem- 
brance with  God.  And  if  he  remember,  what 
does  it  matter  if  every  one  else  forget?  Some 
there  may  have  been  so  humble,  so  solitarv, 
so  destitute,  that  they  have  left,  none  behind 
them  to  mourn  or  remember  them  ;  and  many 
there  have  been  of  whose  existence  the  world, 
and  all  who  are  in  the  world,  become  grad- 
ually  unconscious.  Hut  they  were  righteous. 


REMEMi  >nt.    137 


-tand    full     in     the    ivinrml' 
nd  to  IK'  in  ft] 

what  i<  it  l>ut  to  he  in  hi>  piv>en<  •        To  be 
in  tin-  r«  : 
can    :  '  live  before  him    in  hi* 

v   and  j<  illy  '/       I  Inv,    in    tin* 

test,  as  well  as  highest  sense.  >ting 

remembrance  most  be  everlasting  lift.      ! 
earnestly,    then,   we   should    -trive   our-elves, 
persuade  all  to  !i\,-,   not   in  the  • 
a  dreaming   liti-.  1-nt   in  th< 
.''6  of  God!      "Then   they  that   fiaiv.l 
1   spake   often    one   to  another  :   ami    the 
Lord  ind  hoard  it,  and  a  book  of 

mhrance  wn^  MV  him 

that  feared  ti  i    tint    thought    i 

\nd    they  shall    he   mine,  >aith    the 
;    ot'  liosts,   in    that    day    when    I    make    up 
my  /r  1       il   "pare  them,  as  a  man 

spare  th  his  own  son  that  serveth   him." 

.r  names,  O  Lord,  be  written  in  that 
book  of  remembrance,  among  those  wh«. 
thee  and    think    up'-n   th  is  be 

thin  i  of  hosts,  in  that  day  \\li'-n    I 

makest  up  thy  jewels  ;  and  spare  us,  as  a  mm 
•pan-th    his   nun    ol.rdinit    son  1 

DKCBMBKK  14,  1884. 


SERMON  XIII. 

NOTHING  WITHOUT   CHRIST. 

For  without  me  ye  can  do  nothing.  —  John  xv.  5. 

PECULIAR  solemnity  attends  this  declaration 
of  Jesus  to  his  disciples,  from  the  circumstance 
of  its  being  pronounced  among  his  last  words, 
on  the  night  before  his  death.  The  occasion  of 
the  Supper,  which  he  instituted  at  that  time, 
probably  suggested  the  form  of  the  context, 
in  which  he  compared  himself  to  a  vine,  the 
Father  being  the  husbandman,  and  his  disci- 
ples to  the  branches.  "  As  the  branch  cannot 
bear  fruit  of  itself,  except  it  abide  in  the  vine, 
no  more  can  ye,  except  ye  abide  in  me.  I 
am  the  vine,  ye  are  the  branches.  He  that 
abideth  in  me,  and  I  in  him,  the  same  bringeth 
forth  much  fruit ;  for  without  me  ye  can  do 
nothing."  His  assurance  to  them  is,  in  all  this 
portion  of  the  discourse,  that,  as  the  branches 
derive  their  life  and  nutriment  through  the  vine, 
or  stock,  so  do  they  derive  their  spiritual  life 


NOT/I  I  \ 

ami  nntri  'in  him  ;  that,  as  the  l.ran 

are  conue<  ted   uith    each  »m- 

mon  jun  the  vine,  so  will  their  hroth- 

contimie  ami    l»e   perfected    only   by 

their    (-Militant    uni.m    \\itli    liim   and    hi>    1 
.  as  the  l>:  -"Ul.l    j»n»lnrr   li. i  dli 

if  separated  from  tin-  vim>  an<l  «lfj. rived  of  its 
>,  so  neither  could   they  bring  forth  thr 
•  an«l  the  unrks  of  tlu-ir  heav- 
i-nly  mi>Mnn.  -t  Mippl: 

grace  from  him  ami  hi-  righteousness. 

••  I          :•        •          .«•  can  do  nc.thin^."    'I 
is  the  conclusion.     Tin-  di  nth 

an-1    ir^  u<-i-ht. 

more  stron uly  than  th.-y -li.l  then.     \Vhni  tli.-ir 
Mast  wise  and  gentle  and  ali-Miil 

Mast  ha<l    IMM-II  \sith    thnn  so  Ion-    and 

in  so  well,  was  taken  iVom  tl, 

Q6M|  that   they  could   in- 
deed  do  nothing  without    him.       \\  h«  n 
were  left  to  t:  .  to  act  for  them-e' 

.    in    th«-   '-,,11 

d.'>titnti«.n    and    d.-j.end.-nee,    that     ' 
;   do  nothini:  witliout    him  ;   ti, 
they  were  to  proceed  at  all,  th- 
as  his  apostle^,  in  the  way  which  he  had  ]•«.; 

niatural 

mast  look  fur  it  through  hi,  prom 

.  itli  any  unity  of  |'iir- 
pote    and    ati  >nd    any 


140  NOTHING    WITHOUT   CHRIST. 

will  and  effort,  they  must  be  united  in  attach- 
ment and  subjection  to  him,  their  living  Head ; 
that  if  they  were  to  teach  and  reform  the  na- 
tions and  move  the  world,  they  must  do  so  only 
through  his  truth,  his  wisdom,  and  his  dying 
and  redeeming  love.  What  could  they  do  with- 
out him  ?  By  him  they  had  been  chosen  from 
the  world,  and  made  the  companions  of  his  won- 
drous life ;  from  him  they  had  received  all  the 
knowledge  and  power  which  caused  them  to 
differ  in  any  way  from  common  men  ;  through 
him  they  had  been  cheered  with  that  immortal 
faith,  without  which  they  would  have  been  of 
all  men  the  most  miserable ;  through  him  had 
been  imparted  to  them  the  gifts  and  comforts 
of  the  Holy  Ghost,  tongues  of  fire  and  hearts 
of  constancy,  according  to  his  faithful  engage- 
ment. What  could  they  do  without  him  ? 

Can  we  suppose  the  attempt  on  their  part  of 
acting  independently  of  their  former  Master, 
and  without  a  primary  reference  to  his  assist- 
ance, his  doctrines,  and  his  commandments  ? 
How  would  they  have  appeared  as  instructors 
and  reformers,  not  to  say  apostles,  each  one 
with  his  own  theory  of  religion  and  morals ; 
following  the  path  of  his  own  impulses  ;  bor- 
rowing at  one  time  from  the  philosophy  of 
Greece,  and  at  another  from  the  philosophy 
of  Rome ;  taking  exception  to  this  and  that 
declaration  of  Jesus ;  making  abatements  here 


THING    wiTinn-r  141 

•here  from  tin*  supremacy  of  his  aiithoi 
u'  but  little  of  his  death,  and  less  of  his 

!   >u tier- 
ing to  la  >   memory,  tlie   6 

s  merely  external 

,!,   and    nut    Mitlicieutly    spiritual  ; 
neglecting  to  commemorate  him.  accordii 
his  dying  request,  in  the  <    mm  union  of  bread 
and  wine  ;   speaking  and   teaching  seldom  or 

name  of  Christ  ;   putting  no  t 
in  his  strength  or  promises  ?     How  would 
have  appear* •  ironic!  pi"l>ably  have 

been  the  result  and  effect  of  their 
and    what    the   character    of   the   (  IniMi 
which   they    would   have    left    t«>    D 

But  they  are  wronged  by  the  very  sup; 
pOM    that  they  could  i 

chosen  to  act  thus,  seems  to  be  doing  injustice 
to  those  faithful  disciples, —  h 

!,s  and  th-  ling.      ] 

i   do 

nothing,  and  they  had  no  thought  or  desire  to 

do   anything  without    him.     Their    acts  and 

istles  show  that  Christ  was    e\«  i    on 

tongues  and  ever  in  their  hearts.      In  his 

nam-  lyin::  on   his  aid,  th<-y  went  f..rth 

:d,  preaching  ( 'hrist  the  power  of 

God  and   the   wisdom  of   God,  and   declaring 

tin-re  was  no  otl;  •   through    \\hi<-h 


142  NOTHING    WITHOUT   CHRIST. 

to  them  they  taught  to  others.  They  preached 
his  word,  his  cross,  his  resurrection.  In  him 
they  lived,  in  him  they  labored,  in  hi:n  they 
suffered,  and  in  him  they  triumphed.  They 
did  nothing  without  him.  The  consequence 
was  salvation  to  themselves,  and  salvation  to 
the  world. 

The  case  of  the  apostles  is  our  own  case,  my 
friends,  with  the  exception  only  of  the  pecu- 
liarities of  their  situation  and  mission.  With- 
out Christ  we  can  do  nothing  ;  nothing  in  the 
concerns  and  ways  of  our  highest  moral  life  ; 
nothing  in  relation  to  those  objects  of  faith  and 
hope  and  duty  which  he  came  to  render  clear 
and  sure  to  the  spirits  of  men.  Without  him, 
the  soul  is  left  without  its  support  and  guide. 
Without  him,  the  soul  struggles,  but  accom- 
plishes nothing ;  meditates,  inquires,  searches, 
but  is  made  certain  of  nothing  ;  pursues  vari- 
ous ends,  but  arrives  at  nothing.  Without 
"  the  true  light,"  it  gropes  and  wanders  in  the 
ancient  darkness  ;  without  "  the  true  bread," 
it  hungers  and  faints  ;  without  "  the  true  vine," 
it  brings  forth  no  fruit. 

Perhaps  we  are  not  aware,  or  do  not  suffi- 
ciently consider,  how  much  we  owe  to  Christ 
in  the  insensible  participation  of  those  general 
benefits  which  have  been  bestowed  by  Chris- 
tianity on  the  community  in  which  we  live. 
These  general  benefits  are  the  aggregate  of  the 

o  oo      o 


,    HV ruo n  143 

ta    and    •  •':.    in    every 

•ge,  individuals  have  <leri\vd  immediately  ; 

id  have  preserved  ami  imparted,  and 

which  have  contrilm:  rhai   maybe 

I  a  general  k  e  and  a  general  faith, 

vhich    is   pvat,   tlion^li    not  to  be 

ite  in   these 

salutary  influences,  we  inhale  like  common 
breath  these  airs  of  Paradise*,  without  taing 
conscious  of  their  real  SOUK  *  :  l,ut  their  source 
is  Christ.  A  large  amount  of  Christian  knowl- 
edge and  Christian  j.rmrij.le  is  abroad,  not 
assuming  a  distinctive  name,  and  so  diffused 

iii..n  ami  in»: 

tinii.  and   through  all   the  relations  of  life,  and 
all  its  hours,  from   thox,.  <,t'  childhood  for\v 
it   necessarily  reaches  and   affects  < 

ng  in  greater  or  less  degree  hi- 

thon^'hts,    feelings,    conduct,   condition.      Of 

tin-  influence  we  are  unconscious,  for  it  is  in 

a  manner  insensible.     But   imjnirv   will  soon 

reveal  both  its  reality  and  it-  :  and  \\v 

act  an  ungrateful   j.art,   it',   having  enjoyed  its 

benefits,  we  ascribe  them  to  ourselves,  or  to 

progress  of  our  human  n  1  <  laim 

lonce  on   Christ,    in    th«-    -tivn-tli 

lose   advantages  which  Christ,  and  none 

is  in  fact  bestowed.       In    no  state    of 

•oci-  ' 

world  to  enlight 


144  NOTHING    WITHOUT   CHRIST. 

pated  in  those  advantages  ;  and  in  no  country 
or  nation  where  Christ  is  unknown,  could  we 
be  partakers  of  them  now.  To  him  we  owe 
them,  and  to  him  we  should  refer  them.  Opin- 
ions, sentiments,  and  hopes,  views  of  the  pres- 
ent and  the  future,  motives  of  action,  thoughts 
of  duty  and  of  God,  familiar  to  us  as  the 
faces  of  home,  always  known  to  us  as  if 
they  were  born  with  us,  are  yet  not  ours,  by 
right  of  nature,  but  his,  our  Saviour's,  and  ours 
only  by  grace.  It  is  not  without  his  help,  not 
without  his  original  suggestion,  that  we  think 
these  common  household  thoughts  are  moved 
by  these  apparently  natural  impulses.  Even 
these  are  from  him.  Even  here  we  can  do 
nothing  without  him.  Out  in  the  world,  act- 
ing with  its  citizens,  walking  with  its  people, 
reasoning  with  its  reasoners,  what  is  best  and 
strongest  in  us  comes  primarily  from  Christ. 

But  this  is  only  the  first  and  most  general 
view  of  our  dependence.  When  we  turn  to 
an  examination  of  ourselves  and  our  religious 
state,  in  direct  and  immediate  relation  with  the 
Saviour,  it  is  then  that  the  conviction  is  most 
forcibly  impressed  upon  us,  that  we  can  do 
nothing  without  him.  We  arrive  at  our  most 
intimate,  consoling,  and  elevating  knowledge 
of  God  the  Father,  through  his  Son  Jesus 
Christ.  We  acquire  our  simplest,  clearest, 
kindest,  and  most  practical  views  of  duty 


///.Nv;    WITHOUT  145 

from   liim   and   li  We  learn  from   him 

••  acceptable  worship  and 
aervk-i-  which  man  is  required  to  ; 
Maker.     We  know  through  him  an<l  i 

it    we   could    not    otherwise   have 
known,  whatever  we  might  have  II«<]-M,  that 

uinortal,  that  we  shall  live  aft 
and  liy    him    we  are   1  into 

11   \vitli  that  liriirht  community  •  •!'  aii- 
gels  ited  spirits  whose  voices  we  i 

••^  us  in  our  j- MI 
and  invi:  their  so- 

and    his    nv.  i  lastingly 

While  we  continue  with  him,  studying 
._  en  hi-  iin.iu',  listening  to  hi 
imhii'iMi;    hi>    -j-iri:,  we   are   possessed   with   all 
thi>  .   an-!   JH,\\ or  :  \)\it  away 

him    ami  without    him,  \\ln-iv    i\    it    to  be 

.-I  what  C  !o  ?    I  conK  >s  1  know 

not.      If  I  could  di.Mnaiitlr  my  «>\\n  In-art  «.('  all 

I   and   nirin«.riaU  of   ih.-   Savinur,    1    kn<,\v 

i  be  startled  at  ii>  rmj.tiness  aud 

desolation,  and,  finding  in  it   !.nt  little  to  i 

melancholy  loss,  I  ,»  in  de- 

spair over  tlu-  ruin  1  had  made.     An  ; 

itary  as   my  heart,  should    I    find    the 

hy    and 

I    I    ^«-t    thcrr    hut    <-\  ii    mixt-d    up 
;  iin»ULrh  tlai'kness, 

and  doubt  enfeebling  all  m  J     \\ 

10 


146  NOTHING    WITHOUT   CHRIST. 

should  I  discover  there,  among  the  best  and 
greatest,  who  could  give  to  my  soul  that  divine 
security,  that  heavenly  rest,  which  is  so  freely 
offered  by  Christ,  or  who  could  reflect  upon 
my  soul  that  image  of  purity  and  holiness 
which  is  revealed  in  the  person  of  Christ  ? 
Every  system  and  treatise  into  which  I  might 
look,  every  face  to  which  I  might  turn,  would 
seem  to  ask  me,  in  wonder,  why  I  came  to 
them  for  that  divine  authority,  purity,  and 
beauty  which  they  lived  too  early  to  see,  and 
for  that  light  beyond  the  grave  which  they 
were  searching  for  so  anxiously  themselves. 

Christ  is  my  companion  and  guide  in  the 
path  of  my  mortal  life,  through  all  difficulty 
and  danger,  always  ready  and  efficient  with 
his  counsel,  sympathy,  and  assistance.  Am  I 
in  doubt  concerning  some  question  of  duty, 
some  rule  of  conscience  ?  I  have  only  to  re- 
fer to  his  word  or  his  example,  and  my  course 
is  plain.  Am  I  in  peril  from  some  lurking 
and  besetting  temptation,  almost  irresistible 
from  the  appeals  which  it  makes  to  my  weaker 
nature  ?  One  glance  at  his  pure  countenance, 
one  touch  of  his  invigorating  hand,  and  I  am 
my  better  self  again,  and  have  strength  to 
spurn  the  assaulter  away.  Have  I  neglected 
to  seek  my  helper  in  season  ?  have  I  wandered 
from  the  right  way  ?  and  do  I  at  length  see 
and  deplore  my  fault,  confused  and  ashamed  ? 


•7//.V';    \viruorr 

tilling  me  by  harsh 

accents,   hut  tini:    my   repent:. 

and  inviting  my  return.      Is  my  heart  deeply 
pierced   by   disappointment    or    any    grit' 
sorrow?    or  is   my  tl.'-h    tnmhled    hy  racking 
pain?     I  look  to  the  Man  of  S..JTMWS,  to  the 
suffering  Lamb  of  God,  to  his  hlee.l 
pies,  to  his  agonizing  cross;  and  hi- 
are  the  healing  of  mine.     Do  I  stand  hy  the 
bedside  of  a  departing  friend,   t'.-«-lin-_    that    I 
.   and   that  when   tin-  final    hreath 
is  breathed  I  shall  be  more  wretch*  1  still,  but 
ing  to  restrain  my  tears,  in  the  fear  of 
:  hing  the  last  moments  of  one   I   In 
Christ  is  with  me  where  I  stand,  assuring  me 

ml  will   not  die,   but  only  s! 
and  that  I  sh  him  a^iin,  and  be  pa 

him  no  more.  I  bless  the  sacred  ac- 
cents, and  my  tears  gather  silently,  and  my 
bosom  is  calmed.  And  so  when  I  con  it-  my- 
self to  the  brink  of  the  river,  Christ  will  be 
with  in'-  th.-n,  who  has  i>iM-n  with  im-  always, 
and  the  warmth  of  his  dear  and  glori,,^  pres- 
ence  will  dispel  the  chilly  vapors,  and  he  will 
lead  me  safely  through.  What  then  muld  I 
do  without  him?  How  can  I  live,  ho\v  can 
it  him? 

whom  shall  we  go  liast 

words  of  eternal  lit'-.     Thou  h;M  said  we 

can   do  nothing  without  thee.     Son   of  God, 


148  NOTHING    WITHOUT  CHRIST. 

it  is  true  !  Saviour  of  men,  it  is  true  !  Thou 
art  the  vine,  we  are  the  branches.  Our  spir- 
itual life  is  nourished  and  invigorated  from 
thee  ;  and  if  we  bear  fruit,  it  is  because  we 
abide  in  thee,  and  still  receive  the  vital  streams 
which  flow  from  thee  alone. 

Is  it  necessary  that  any  one  should  be 
guarded  against  the  error  of  inferring,  that 
because  without  Christ  we  can,  in  a  spiritual 
sense,  do  nothing,  therefore  with  him  we  are 
relieved  from  all  responsibility  of  exertion,  and 
have  nothing  to  do  for  ourselves  ?  I  should 
hope  not.  Have  we  not  yet  to  maintain  our 
connection  with  him,  yet  to  follow  where  he 
leads,  yet  to  make  use  of  the  knowledge,  and 
yet  to  apply  the  power  which  he  furnishes  ? 
If  an  artist  place  in  the  hands  of  a  pupil  all 
the  most  finished  instruments  which  are  proper 
to  his  art,  and  afford  him  all  the  instruction 
which  is  needful  to  secure  his  advancement 
in  it,  and  give  him,  moreover,  the  promise 
that  he  will  always  .take  an  interest  in  his 
success,  and  be  near  to  advise  and  direct  him, 
has  the  pupil  therefore  nothing  to  do  ?  Are 
the  instruments  which  have  been  furnished 
him  to  lie  unemployed  on  his  table,  and  is 
he  to  fold  his  hands,  and  sit  down,  and  say 
that  all  is  now  complete,  and  he  is  perfect 
in  his  profession,  or  else  deplore  his  inability, 
and  wait  for  something  more  to  be  done  for 


NOTi//\i;  wrrnorr  149 

him  lias    been    clone    for   him 

whit  !  ing  ; 

ive  been  imparted  to  him 

ml.     And  yet  he  has,  in  the 

•  f  the  su  '»in«4  still    to 

-\  i:h   in- 
to study  its   principles  with  dil- 
igence  ;  still,  by  i  gable  labor, 

,akc  himself  a  pr.'tirirnt    in    i:>   mysteries 
and  app  i  :i-  own 

lit,   In'  sadly  mistakes  and   neglects 
hi-  duty  :   and  no  boast  <>: 

•    of  in<  "inpetency,  will  avail    to  excuse 
him.      It    i>   >..  \\ith   the   Christian,  who  i> 
pn|»i'  Ills  Master  has  <l<»iu-  evarjv* 

thin^   f«»r  him,  1.-.  Jon,   l>y  exampl'  . 

impression,  1>\  the  aids  of  his  grace  and  spirit  : 
and  yet   the   pupil    is,   lor  this  very  reason,   in 
:i    which    requires    his    own    most 
tul  an  1  Lrrat.  tul  exertions  to  improve  and 
exei'  lowments.      It    is 

him   to  say  that    hi 

•I   lie   tni-ts  wholly  in  his  Master's 

perfection  an«l   merits.     Certainly  he  ought  to 

in    his   Master's  perfection    and    merits, 

without  whom  he  is  nothing  :    hut  not   in  such 

iy  as  to  render  him  morally  i«ll«.-,  or  lead 

him    to    indulge    the   erroneous    thought    that 

anything  can  he   donr   tor   him  which   it  i>  his 

,:     to    do    lor    hnn-"li,    or    that 


150  NOTHING   WITHOUT  CHRIST. 

he  can  be  found  in  his  Master's  image,  without 
taking  some  pains  to  copy  his  example  and 
obey  his  directions. 

Without  Christ,  our  Lord  and  Saviour,  we 
are  nothing.  Therefore  most  gratefully  should 
we  acknowledge  our  dependence,  and  the  in- 
valuable gifts  of  knowledge  and  power  and 
comfort  which  we  owe  to  him,  and  most  ear- 
nestly, also,  should  we  endeavor  to  make  a 
worthy  disposition  of  his  bounties,  in  the  tem- 
per and  actions  of  an  answering  love  and 
obedience.  Thus,  and  thus  only,  will  his 
strength  become  effectually  ours ;  his  consola- 
tions our  rejoicing ;  his  merits  our  salvation. 
The  branches  will  remain  on  the  vine,  never 
to  fall  or  wither.  Our  life  will  be  like  his, 
because  nourished  from  his,  divine  and  eternal. 

NOVEMBER  28,  1841. 


SERMON   XIV. 

IUITY  OF  CHRISTS   KI 
And  of  hU  kingdom  there  thill  be  no  end.  —  Luke  i.  83. 

Turn.  \\<>rds  are  a  part  of  the  angelic  an- 
ii  to  the  blessed  Mary.     They  con- 
tain  a    j'l-MimM'   that    the   reign  of  the  j'l'ii, 
Son,  who  was  to  be  born  of  IHT,  >liould   be 
perpetual.        I  is   every  probability  that 

will   be  gloriously  fulfilled.     Be- 
:    which   we-   ivposu  in   the  deda- 
ns  of  tin-   Scriptures,  of  wlm-h    tli.-nj   are 
several  of  the  same  import  with  our  text,  we 
have  the  history  and  exj  of  tin-  past, 

«.f  thr  present,  the  prospects  of 
re,  and   the   nature  itself  of  Cin 
y,  to  assure  us  that  the  kin_:<l"]ii   «>f  ilui 
Messiah  will  be  an  everlasting  kin^«Iniu  :   that 
•j  of  Christ  will  forever  be  glorit 
'•epts  and  doctrines  of  Jesus  will 
i    iiiflin  IK  «    nor  be  robbed  of 
that    of  th«- 


152     PERPETUITY  OF   CHRIST'S  KINGDOM. 

and  undefiled  religion,  and  the  reign  of  God 
and  heaven,  there  will  be.no  end. 

And  chief  of  these  we  have  the  nature  of 
Christianity  to  give  us  the  assurance  of  its 
stability.  This  assurance  is  proclaimed  by  its 
own  immortality.  And  it  is  immortal,  because 
its  subject-matter,  because  the  elements  which 
go  to  compose  it,  because  the  foundations  on 
which  it  is  reared  and  supported,  are  all  im- 
mortal and  eternal.  When  therefore  the  ques- 
tion is  put,  why  there  will  be  no  end  of  Chris- 
tianity, the  answer  from  a  consideration  of  its 
nature  is,  because  there  will  be  no  end  to 
virtue,  to  faith,  to  reason,  to  hope,  to  fear ; 
no  end  to  the  aspirations  of  men  after  the 
highest  good ;  no  end  to  heaven  and  to  the 
idea  of  an  immense  and  holy  future  ;  no  end 
to  the  being,  the  government,  and  the  ac- 
knowledgment of  God.  Christianity  does  not 
consist  in  objects  which  are  outward,  and 
therefore  liable  to  be  worn  and  to  be  changed ; 
it  does  not  rest  on  things  which  are  passing 
away  ;  but  it  consists  in  and  rests  upon  those 
thoughts,  sentiments,  affections,  principles,  and 
objects,  which  are  rooted  permanently  within, 
and  seated  permanently  above,  and  which 
cannot  wear  out,  nor  be  weakened,  nor  pass 
away. 

Christianity  teaches  the  nature  and  character 
of  God.  The  idea  of  God  is  in  fact  the  an- 


•  system,  wil 
it  would  be  dead,  or  innliiin:.     \\ill  tin* 
of   (•  id«-a     of   One,    Mipivm.-,     p6] 

be     «'hlit<  •   "in    the    human 

niin  .j>rint«'d  there,  i-  it  lik«-l\   that 

it   will    ever   he    ol.li:  Can   any 

be  pres«-  tin*   mind,  which    (-..inprises 

its  >N  .  i;il    and  -LC  to 

•  "U  and  ni'-t  '-ill.  u--.    : 

•  srd   that   the   mind   will 

grow  so  sluggish    ml   «  ai   l«s,s,  or  become  so 
deranged,  as  to  be  content  to  lose,  or  anxious 

wt  away  from   its   keeping   and   in 
branc*',   that  wliidi,   of  all    t 

raises,   strm-th'-ns,   expands,  and  coi 
thr  in<.>t,  —  that  thought  which  may  I    rallrd 
itx    o«  n  ->  J       It'    man    cann. 

fi«»d,  then,  so  far,  Christianity  is 
safe  and  |MTman«-nt.      lint  will  tl,  r  be 

•T    inij.i  •     in    the    idea'  of 

God,    Hi'-h    as    Christianity    oH'.-rs    it,    so    I 

ity  in  tl  led  '/ 

Not  unless  an  ach  d   !»••  ma«l«-  np'm  j.rr- 

1  nnl'-»   unity  can    he   in  i<l      more 
iitii-r  than  All 

I   l«»ve  more 
• 

without    limit,  without  alloy,  without  restraint, 
! 


154     PERPETUITY  OF   CHRIST'S  KINGDOM. 

named  by  a  name  dearer  than  that  of  Father, 
or  invested  with  a  character  nearer  and  more 
benignant  and  engaging  than  that  of  paternal. 
Not  unless  a  providence  can  be  imagined  more 
majestic  than  that  which  orders  all  things  in 
heaven  and  earth,  or  more  careful  and  watch- 
ful than  that  by  which  the  hairs  of  our  heads 
are  numbered.  That  such  is  the  idea  of  God, 
as  given  in  the  Christian  Scriptures,  is  capa- 
ble of  demonstration.  That  any  improvement 
can  be  made  on  such  an  idea,  is  not  capable 
of  being  conceived.'  The  effect  of  any  im- 
provement or  purification  of  the  divine  idea, 
as  it  exists  among  men,  will  forever  be  to 
bring  it  nearer  to  that  idea  as  it  is  expressed 
in  the  Christian  records,  and  not  to  produce 
any  alienation  or  superiority,  which  is  impos- 
sible. 

I  conclude,  then,  that,  as  the  human  mind 
cannot  part  with  the  idea  of  God,  which  is 
required  by  its  wants  and  is  kindred  to  its  con- 
stitution ;  that,  as  the  mind  is  aided  and  ele- 
vated by  this  idea,  on  the  principle  of  a  con- 
stant progression,  of  which  it  is  the  urging  and 
expanding  power  or  spring ;  and  that,  as  all 
advancement  in  this  direction  is  an  approach 
toward  the  Christian  standard,  which,  from  its 
perfection,  cannot  be  surpassed, — Christianity 
will  be  perpetual.  Its  light  cannot  be  put  out, 
for  God  is  its  illumination.  It  cannot  die,  for 


t  IIRJSTS  KINGDOM.     155 

which  penetrates  and  informs  it,  and 
life  which    invigorates  and  quickens  and 
preserves  it,  is  God. 

•  inclusion  is  to  be  drawn,  secondly, 
from  ility  of  the  gospel.     Of  the  king- 

dom of  Jesus  there  shall  be  no  end,  because  of 

oliness,  ti  ill  be 

no  end.     The  principle  of  virtue  is  a  conser- 

The  absence  of  virtue  from 

any  system  which  is  intended  for  th«-  mind  and 

heart  of  man,  is  an  infallihle  mark  of  its  decay. 

It  is  a  spot  \vhich  will  spread  intoconuj 

and  bring  on  debility,  and  terminate  in  <leath. 

>sper  for  a  while,  and  its 

prosperity  may  be  sudden,  but  so  will  be  its 

i<  h  is  forced 

into   premature  and  fair  seeming  ripeness  by 

the  poison   which  spoils  it.      The  morality  of 

gospel  may  challenge,  and  for  eighteen  cen- 

s  has  challenged,  examination.    Th<    n-Milt 

has  been  that  it  lias  approved  itself  more  and 

esteem   and   iv.nvnce  of  n. 

Unbelievers  themselves  hftYO  acknowledged  — 

those  uulM-lievers,  I  mean,  who  have  mind  and 

md   principle,  and  do  not  descend  into 

-that  the  morality  of 

liter  and 

r  than  that  of  anv  otln-r.      Nor  d<»  I    mt-n- 

I  r,,u>id«-r  ( 
all  ind.-l.:.  d    or    1  'heir 


156      PERPETUITY   OF   CHRIST'S  KINGDOM. 

courtesy,  which,  though  it  would  not  reject,  it 
may  safely  spare  ;  nor  because  I  regard  an  un- 
believer as  in  the  least  degree  a  better  judge  of 
what  is  good  and  w^hat  is  true  than  a  believer. 
Not  at  all.  But  I  mention  it,  because  the  evi- 
dence of  unbelief  is  extorted  evidence,  and 
unites  strongly  with  that  which  is  more  will- 
ingly rendered ;  and  because  this  testimony  to 
the  high  virtue  of  our  religion  is  just  so  much 
unwitting  testimony  to  something  more,  —  even 
to  its  divine  origin,  to  its  complete  truth,  and 
to  its  endless  stability.  The  acknowledgment 
that,  from  the  northern  corner  of  Palestine, 
from  despised  Nazareth,  came  forth  a  system, 
before  the  moral  superiority  of  which  all  other 
systems  must  bow,  is  the  acknowledgment  of 
a  fact  very  near  to  a  miracle.  It  is  also  the 
acknowledgment  of  its  perpetuity.  Perfect 
holiness  is  of  itself  perpetuity.  It  is  the  con- 
servative principle,  without  any  mixture  or 
alliance  with  sin,  which  is  the  great  element  of 
corruption  and  dissolution.  Every  voice,  there- 
fore, from  every  quarter,  which  confesses  the 
pure  morality  of  the  religion  of  Jesus,  joins 
with  that  of  the  angel  wrho  saluted  his  virgin 
mother,  in  proclaiming  that  of  his  kingdom 
there  shall  be  no  end. 

And  the  morality  of  the  gospel  in  its  com- 
pleteness is  yet  but  imperfectly  understood  and 
partially  felt.  It  is  unfolding  itself  in  new 


i:.7 

power    to    tlif    understandings    and  hearts    of 
1  this  its  progressiveness  is  a  t< 
uity.      Tin1  peculiar  and  di-tin-uish- 
0f  tin-   Christian    in..r;iliiy    U   only 
beginning  to  be  frit  and  prarti>rd  as  its  au: 

liould  hr.  Tin-  self-den vi M.I:  ami 
peaceful  virtues  have  not  yet  shown  half  thrir 
powr  vd  half  thrir  triumphs.  T.ut 

are  going  on  with  a  man-h  a-  Mm  as  that 
of  time.      Men  are  coming  daily  nearer  to  a 
thrir  \alur   and    lu-auty,  and 
DO    human    happiness. 
«.tV  iu«-?:  "in  this  juxt    prrcep- 

11  the  angelic  song  of  peace  and  <: 
will  was   Mini:  to  thr  shrj.hrnU  of  Bethlri 
how  far  off,  whm  thr  (rreat  and  blessed 
himself  preached  glad  tidings  to  thr  poor  I     So 
far  off',  tl  inculcation  of  ti 

tues,  so  disappointing  to  passion  and  pride  ;  it 
was  this  preaching  to  and  for  the  poor  and 

-ed,  so  incom  ible  to  p  and 

vainglory,  which   brought    him    to   the   cross. 

ing  of  the  gospel  to  the  poor 

was  thr  initial  cause  which,  through  a  series  of 

1  unices,  brought 

li   thr    Lamb  to  tin- 

And  now  ni'-u  are  beginning  to  see 

it  is  the   only  tnir    pn-achin^,  —  thr 

•>ve  and  raise  and   iv- 
!i  the  world.      And  it  is  uttered  and    1 


158       PERPETUITY   OF   CHRIST'S  KINGDOM. 

with  increasing  effect,  not  only  from  pulpits 
and  in  religious  assemblies,  but  in  the  house 
and  by  the  way,  from  tongue  to  tongue,  and 
heart  to  heart,  in  the  daily  walks,  the  common 
practice,  and  the  ordinary  meetings  of  men. 
"  The  Lord  gave  the  word,  great  was  the  com- 
pany of  preachers.  Kings  with  their  armies 
did  flee  and  were  discomfited."  It  is  the  voice 
of  experiment  and  improvement,  and  the  les- 
son of  experience.  Humility  is  showing  itself 
stronger  than  pride,  meekness  than  arrogance, 
peace  than  war,  gentleness  than  wrath,  and 
charity  than  selfishness.  Ay,  stronger;  not 
only  better  but  stronger,  and  stronger  because 
better.  They  have  not  prevailed,  but  they  are 
prevailing.  The  end  of  the  warfare  is  not  yet. 
It  is  probably  very  far  off ;  but  it  is  approach- 
ing. The  time  is  approaching  when  Chris- 
tianity shall  be  understood  as  it  was  preached 
by  its  author. 

The  completeness  of  the  morality  of  the 
gospel,  therefore,  is  made  up  of  that  part 
which  has  always  received  the  approbation  of 
men,  comprising  such  virtues  as  honesty,  jus- 
tice, veracity,  and  that  part  which,  though 
equally  worthy  of  approbation,  has  been  greatly 
despised  and  kept  out  of  sight,  comprising  the 
self-denying,  self-sacrificing,  lowly,  and  peace- 
ful virtues.  What  was  once  thought,  and  is 
still  thought  by  many,  to  be  a  defective  por- 


•:au   code,  5-  |>rovi:i«;  to  be  its 
•h  ami  ornament.      1 1..\\-  t'ault- 
less  i-  11,  of  which  humility  and  | 

supposed  to   be    the  fault-.      If 

faultless,   t'.i'-n   endle<s.      Tin'  foundations  of 

('Ini-tia  :ead   of  being   di-tinl-d,  are 

.  and  consolidating,  and  becoming 

more  sti  mented  than  ev 

rably  coniiect.-d   \\ith   the   morality  of 
our  i  iu«l  iiuK  t  <1  a  JM  rsonification  « 

is  tl.  nd character  «-t'  him  \\li«»  brought 

Some  of  tin*   Cliri-tian    virtm-s    :, 
deduced  and  enforced  rather  frmn  tin   ezampk 
of  Jesus  than   I'mm   hi-   <] 

character   of  ( 'hrUtianity   is    the    character  of 
We    say   then,   a^ain,  that   there  will 
be  no  end  of  Christianity,  becau>  \\  ill 

be  no  en  influence  and  rule  of  a  <  i 

acter  like  that  of  Christ.     It  i>  tli<   <li\inr  im- 
age.    It  is  God  manifest  in  the  fl<  -,.      It  is  a 
form  of  love  and  majesty,  full   of  ^race  and 
truth,    \vhidi    mu-t    ever    he   enthroned    in    tin- 
hearts  of  mm.  whilr  th.-n-  are  good  AJ 
tlu-re  to  do  it  homage.      Warm  admiration, 
earnest  gratitude,  tender  sympath 
loyalty,  "  holy  hope  ami  hi^li  humility," — all 
tin-    rirfcUM   au«l    -'•ntini''iits    which    th«-    I'lince 
iruiiml  l.im  and   aj.j.«.intrd 

•nor,  —  form  his  pennaa  nte  1  be- 

fore its  spiritual  q  ital  magi 


160     PERPETUITY   OF  CHRIST'S  KINGDOM. 

grows  dim.  Jesus  is  and  forever  must  be  en- 
throned in  the  human  breast.  "  Of  his  king- 
dom there  shall  be  no  end ;  "  for  it  is  a  spirit- 
ual kingdom,  and  he  himself  is  ever  present  to 
administer  it.  Centuries  have  no  effect  on  the 
brightness  of  his  lineaments.  Purely,  freshly, 
do  love  and  faith  behold  him  now,  as  they  bow 
before  him ;  and  thus  they  ever  will  behold 
him,  when  marble  statues  are  defaced,  and 
palaces  are  ruins  and  dust. 

I  will  mention  but  one  more  element  of 
Christianity,  inherent  in  its  nature  and  insep- 
arable from  it,  which  gives  assurance  of  its 
perpetuity.  It  is  the  doctrine,  the  promise, 
the  principle  of  immortal  life.  This  is  brought 
to  light  in  the  gospel.  It  stands  first  among 
the  glad  tidings.  It  is  clearly  proclaimed  ;  it 
is  strongly  proved.  It  is  encumbered  by  no 
degrading  superstitions.  It  is  the  high  and 
pure  sanction  of  a  high  and  pure  morality.  It 
addresses  itself  to  those  hopes  which  are  al- 
ways listening  for  good  news  from  the  better 
country ;  to  that  longing  after  immortality 
which  is  a  longing  of  man's  nature.  The 
news  having  been  distinctly  told,  and  strik- 
ingly confirmed,  is  it  likely  that  it  will  ever 
be  forgotten  or  discredited  ?  Possessing  the 
knowledge  which  they  have  longed  for,  will 
men  ever  let  it  go  ?  The  heavens  having  been 
opened  to  them,  will  they  ask  to  have  them 


9    KINGDOM.      161 


nit 


it  up  ?     ( )r  will  they  clnx,.  their  eyes  to  : 
which    is    pouring   d<»wn '/      Having    this 

ist,  will  they  soon,  or  > 
ever,    relin.|uMi    it?     First,  they  \\\ 
change   th.-ir   na: 

I  nerd  imt  he  told   of  th  ty  \\liidi  is 

abroad.       I  hear  it   with  regret,   luit    wit 

fear.     Infidelity  has  always  been  abroad,  either 

isguise  or  openly.     I  kn«»\v  that  some  men 

will  Inn-  Ives,  and  p<>  Ives, 

throw  away  their  best   possessions,  and 

scoff  at  the  holiest  feelings   of   tln-ir  nature. 

bo   know  that  they  cannot  persuade 

their   it  !  to   follow   tl  ;  !    .      I 

also  while  there  «  »ng  men 

a  revere i  /hat  is  high  and  holy,  and  a 

hope  of  happiness  beyond  the  reach  of  I 

and  death,  this  reverence  will  continue 
to  seek  th--  instructions,  and  this  hope  to  ac- 
the  promises  and  rest  on  the  proofs,  of  the 
gospel  ot  :  and  this  will  be  so,  notwith- 

standing  son  persons  have  di- 

vested themselves  of  o  and  cast  :i 

<  io  and  ask  the   son  or  the  dauu 

arent  is  who  nursed  their  helpless 
and  sung  to  th«-ir  ehfldhood  :unid 

lowers,  and  loved  lied, 

suffered,   and  still    forgave :    ask    them    where 
M)W  that  the  face  of  fathn 

will  say,  In 
11 


IQ2    PERPETUITY   OF   CHRIST'S  KINGDOM. 

heaven  !  Ask  the  parents  where  that  child  is 
whom  they  so  lately  held  and  led  by  the  hand, 
listening  to  its  fresh  wonder,  cheered  by  its 
cheerfulness,  and  taught  by  its  questionings 
and  its  purity.  They  may  not  be  able  to 
speak,  but  they  will  look  upwards,  and  their 
hearts  will  answer,  In  heaven !  There  they 
have  placed  its  image  ;  there  they  see  it  smil- 
ing brightly  upon  them,  in  the  labors  of  the 
day  and  in  the  silent  watches  of  the  night ; 
and  all  the  hundred  hands  of  impiety  and  un- 
belief cannot  tear  it  down.  Nor  can  they  take 
from  the  weary  pilgrim  the  hope  of  his  rest, 
from  the  traveller  the  sight  of  his  home,  from 
the  virtuous  and  the  lovers  of  virtue  the  pros- 
pect of  a  better  world. 

In  such  foundations  as  these  the  structure  of 
our  religion  is  laid ;  and  they  are  as  firm  as  the 
everlasting  hills,  and  firmer.  All  this  faith  and 
hope  in  God,  in  virtue,  in  Christ,  in  heaven  ; 
all  this  love  of  what  is  greatest  and  most  wor- 
thy, is  not  to  be  exchanged  on  a  sudden  for 
what  is  nothing  at  best.  When  I  fear  for 
Christianity,  it  will  be  after  I  have  despaired 
of  everything  spiritual  and  everything  good. 
When  I  behold  the  beauty  of  the  light,  and 
the  fitness  of  the  eye  to  receive  and  rejoice  in 
it,  I  no  more  fear  that  the  Sun  of  Righteous- 
ness will  set  in  shadows,  than  that  the  burning 
centre  of  our  planetary  system  will  fall  from 
the  skies. 


K1XGDOM.       168 

••!I«-  shall  r  the  house  of  Jacob  for- 

kininlom   tliere  shall   be  no 
:   kingdoms  shall  change  and  per- 
ish ;  other  governments  shall  be  destroyed  : 
old  sound  of  crushing  thrones  has  not  ceased; 
have  been  falling  in  our  own  tiiiK-s  all 
around  us,  and  others  will  <•  times  that 

are  coming  after  us.     The  kingdom  of  Christ 
is  not  dependent  upon  them,  and  will  not 
with  tlh  in.      N«.r  will   it  pass  away,  though 
some  of  the  forms  and  in  which   : 

hav«  •••<!  with  it    ^i-uM  he  laid  aside. 

e  things  are  not  the  substance  of  Gin 

anity,  an  y  cannot  be  1  by 

1 1  •  who  consider  nda- 

tions  of  the  Messiah's  kingdom,  will  see  that 

consist  in   these  things,  but  are 

tin-  -aim-  with  the  foundations  of  the  eternal 

ue.    "Thy  throne,  O  God,  is  forever  and 

ever;   the  sceptre  of  thy  kingdom  is  a  right 

DECBMBKE  25, 1882. 


SERMON   XV. 


INDEPENDENCE   ON   HUMAN   SYMPATHY. 

And  yet  I  am  not  alone,  because  the  Father  is  with  me.  — 
John  xvi.  32. 

No  sublimer  moral  spectacle  can  be  pre- 
sented to  the  sight  of  men  than  that  of  one 
who,  though  he  should  be  deprived  of  all  the 
usual  supports  of  friendship  and  sympathy,  yet 
falls  not,  because  he  is  spiritually  upheld ;  of 
one  who,  though  in  the  path  of  duty  he  be 
deserted  by  all  visible  companions,  yet  stops 
not,  falters  not,  because  he  is  then  brought 
into  closer  communion  with  the  Almighty 
Spirit  and  All-sufficient  Friend ;  of  one  who, 
when  left  alone,  is  yet  not  alone,  and  com- 
plains not  of  defection  and  loneliness,  because 
One,  whom  he  knows  to  be  his  Father,  is  with 
him.  Such  a  spectacle  is  brought  before  us  by 
the  words  of  the  text. 

Jesus  was  not  insensible  to  human  sympa- 
thies. He  loved  all  mankind,  and  he  sought 


i  NDENCE  ON  HUMAN  SYMPATHY.     1(55 

II  loved  li is  disciples,  and  loved 
them  unto  tlir  rnd.  The  end  was  now  just 
at  hand  :  and  his  whole  parting  di-coui^ 

and    prayer  for  them    prove   how    ten- 

•  :iem.      ( )f  all   who    had   ever 

him,  these  eleven  only  remained,  on 

that  night  when  he  was  betrayed  ;    and   In* 

iw  that  th«'ir  allegiance  would  not  si 

they  would  forsake  him 

in  tin-  impending  hour  of  darkness.     "Behold 

cometh,  yea,  is  now  come,  that  ye 

shall  be  scattered,  every  man  to  his  own,  and 

leave  me  alone."     Think  you  that  -! 
was  indifferent  to  the  failure  of  those  fri 

in  he  had  chosen  out  of  tin   whole  world? 

be  f'-lt  it  keenlv  : 

:itributed  to  tin-  lutt«Tn»*<>  of  the  cup  \\  Inch 

••as  about  to  drain  :   hut   he  could  not   j.cr- 

i  •   him  ;  he  was  sustained  by 

nee  of  a 

•wer.      "And   yet  I  am   not  al 
because  the  Father  is  with  me." 

I   wnuld    inculcate  tn-m  this  passage  a  du«i 
human  sympathy  :    not    a   di-- 
regard  of  it,  but  an  independence  on  it,  a  p< 
:iout  it;  a  puw.-r  which  imM  • 
is,  and  must  come  down,   with  e 
r  good  and  perfect  gift,  from  above.     It   is 
'•    ^hould   di-rr^:ird    this    -yni- 

'i.-n.     It  would  not  be  w«-ll 


166     INDEPENDENCE   ON  HUMAN  SYMPATHY. 

that  we  should.  The  desire  of  it  is  one  of  the 
primary  wants  of  our  being.  The  comfort  and 
happiness  to  be  derived  from  it  are  inestimable. 
But  still  we  must  learn  to  do  without  it.  We 
must  so  train  and  discipline  ourselves,  that,  if  it 
should  fail  us,  if  it  should  be  withdrawn  from 
us,  we  may  not  droop  and  mourn  as  utterly 
forlorn  and  helpless,  but  gather  up  our  own 
strength  and  go  forward,  trusting  in  that 
strength,  because  it  is  given  us  from  God. 

We  must  learn  to  be  superior  to  the  need  of 
human  sympathy,  for  this  very  reason,  that  if 
we  do  not,  occasions  and  seasons  will  come 
when  the  support  of  that  sympathy  will  be 
refused  to  us,  and  when  we  shall  consequently 
be  left  alone,  .wholly  alone,  and  shall  fall. 
This  is  not  mere  supposition  or  remote  proba- 
bility. Hardly  a  life,  among  the  vast  number 
of  human  lives,  is  without  such  occasions  and 
seasons.  They  occur  to  our  experience  and 
observation  continually,  and  they  occur  in  great 
variety. 

You  have  an  end  in  view,  an  important 
moral  end.  You  see  it  clearly,  and  you  tell 
your  vision.  You  apprehend  the  means  which 
are  requisite  to  accomplish  or  promote  that  end, 
and  you  propose  those  means  to  the  favor  and 
adoption  of  other  men.  But  the  end  which 
you  see  so  clearly,  they  do  not  see  at  all ;  or,  if 
they  see  it,  they  do  not  see  its  importance. 


7.Y /  HUMAN  SYMP  \  Til  Y. 

which  you    i>r<>|> •><•.•    call   for   too 

r  some  personal  saci ; 
h  they  are  not  disposed  to  make,  even   if 
i  knowledge  in  some 
degre     it-  importance.      Your  views  are 

K«.l.  tlbrts   are   not   second*  ><\. 

meet  with  no  sympathy.      Do  you  feel 

alone?      Do  you    experience   within  yourself 

>  of  a  deserted  and  desolate 

man  ?     In  a  measure  and  for  a  time  you  do. 

Y-ni  are  conMi- 
tnte«l  -o.     But  if  ynu  have  foreseen 

-  possible,  and  have  guarded 
its  effects  ;  if  you  have  accus- 
tomed yourself  to  a  spiritual  independence  and 
vmi   will   not  give  up  that  end,  you 
will  h  such  aid  as  you  can  ol>t 

and  as  far  as  possible  without  aid.    You  will  be 
sensible  of  internal   aid   and  companionship ; 

vith  that  strength  you  will  bear  up  ag;i 
averted  looks,  against  cold  words,  against  sneers 
and  ridicule,  against  the  despondent  pleadings 
>ur  own  solitary  affections  ;  and  you  will 
persevere,  longing  for  human  sympathy,  and 
yet  able  to  goon,  and  ch  trimmed  to  go  on, 

Again;  a  subj<  sts  your  feelings  as 

you  have  no  reason  or  right  to  e\p«  <  t   it   « ;m 

ings  of  other  men.     They  <!<> 

itli  you,  simply  because  they 


168    INDEPENDENCE   ON  HUMAN  SYMPATHY. 

cannot  sympathize  with  you.  The  subject  is 
one  which  is  brought  before  you,  or  which  is 
connected  with  you  in  a  manner  which  natu- 
rally gives  it  a  charm  or  a  value,  or,  on  the 
other  hand,  a  pain  or  discomfort,  with  which 
others  are  not  aifected.  What  will  you  do  ? 
You  want  the  sympathy  of  your  neighbors. 
But  you  cannot  force  their  sympathy.  Sympa- 
thy is  not  controlled  by  the  laws  of  force.  It 
must  be  yielded  spontaneously,  or  not  at  all. 
From  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  it  cannot 
now  be  yielded  spontaneously,  because  your 
neighbors  cannot  feel  as  you  feel,  and  therefore 
you  cannot  have  it.  What  will  you  do  ?  Will 
you  complain  ?  Then  you  will  make  yourself 
more  unhappy  than  before,  and  without  accom- 
plishing your  desire.  Will  you  assume  an  in- 
difference yourself  toward  the  subject  which 
excites  you  and  does  not  excite  others  ?  This 
perhaps  you  ought  not  to  do,  even  if  you  can ; 
or  perhaps  cannot  do,  at  any  rate,  on  account 
of  your  inevitable  relations  with  it.  You  must 
stand  in  your  own  strength,  and  stand  alone. 
You  must  be  content  to  superintend  and  guide 
your  own  feelings,  and  enjoy  or  suffer  them 
without  communication,  because  you  cannot 
reasonably  demand  that  others  should  share 
them. 

Suppose,  again,  that  the  sympathy  of  others 
ought  to  be  given  you,  and  yet  is  not,  through 


//r.i/.i.v  .<r.v/M77/r.    169 

obtuseness,  their  tnv..1ity,  or 

their  !  re  is  blame  attaching 

l»ut  tlie  same  duty  and  :y  of 

n< v    incumbent    upon    you.      Your 

:  spair    because  there 

is  a  wai.  ing  in  the  world,  or  in 

to    maintain    yon 

•  »wn  sense  of  right,  and  your  own  in- 
.ii.il    relations,  trusts,  and  responsibilities. 
Whether  your  neighbors  are  right  or  wrong, 
their  conduct  in  respect  to  you  is  jus- 
tifia!  .  thing   is  certain, 

that  they  do  not  join  you,  that  they  do  not  go 
alon^  with  yon,  that  '  -  you  alnne.      It 

is  yours  whether  this  >. 

to  be  supi'li'-d,  and  how. 

j)pose     anothrr    rasr,    and    01 

ininon.      Von  lia  rd  some  loss, 

some  great  loss.     The  burden  of  your 

upon  you.     You  seek  to  have  it  allrvi- 

>ituation  calls  for  sympatliv.  ;md 

you  receive  sympathy.     But  you  do  not  re- 

.  s<»  much  a- 
>se  to  be  your  due,  so  much  as  your 

craves.     You  find  that  tin-  sympathy 

•.ssed  is  unsatisfying;    consoles  you   i 

<>rts  you  ives  you  still  in  a  manner 

ys  because  there  is  a 

a  good  to  console  you  to 

-t,  but  s<  friends 


170  INDEPENDENCE  ON  HUMAN  SYMPATHY. 

lack  the  ability  to  put  their  sympathy  into  the 
most  effective  and  consoling  form,  and  some- 
times because  any  form  of  sympathy  must  ap- 
pear tame  to  your  excited  sensibilities,  must 
feel  cold  to  your  warmly  bleeding  heart.  Ac- 
cuse not  your  friends  of  apathy.  Charge  them 
not  with  want  of  feeling.  If  they  do  not  pos- 
sess feeling,  your  accusations  will  not  give  it  to 
them.  If  they  do  possess  it,  your  reproaches 
will  add  to  their  unhappiness,  without  alleviat- 
ing your  own.  How  can  they  feel  as  much  as 
you  do  yourself?  And  even  if  they  should 
feel  as  much,  or  even  more,  and  should  express 
their  feeling  in  the  strongest  and  best  chosen 
terms,  neither  their  words  nor  their  tears  could 
restore  to  you  what  you  had  lost,  or  fill  up  the 
void  in  your  bosom.  Human  sympathy  of  the 
most  perfect  character  has  a  limited  operation. 
It  cannot  do  everything.  Bless  it  for  what  it 
does,  and  demand  not  of  it  impossibilities  or 
miracles.  Bring  your  mind  to  the  conclusion, 
that  there  are  woes  which  it  cannot  fully  re- 
lieve ;  burdens  which  it  cannot  lift  away  from 
off  your  spirit ;  occasions  when  it  must  leave 
you  comparatively  alone,  and  when  you  must 
be  made  aware  of  its  insufficiency,  and  aware 
of  the  need  of  something  else,  something 
mightier,  something  holier,  for  support  and 
consolation. 

Another  reason  which  may  be  proposed  for 


AY  ON  HUMAN  SYMPATHY.    \- \ 

!»n    «>f    independence    on    human 
sympatl.  utrinsic  dignity  and  propriety, 

which  are  so  manifest    that  they  always  o 

I  win  a  favor  at  la-t  whi 
>d  to  a  weak  and  importunate  depends 

Consequence  of  a  person's  o.ntin- 
ually  and  beseechingly  throwing  him-*  It   • 

:es  even  of  his  friends  ?    He  wears 

out   those  sympathies.     They   cannot    supply 

incessant  demands.     They  grow  weary  in 

hankies*  task  of  bearing  or  endeavoring 

to  bear  the  troubles  of  one  who  does  little  or 

nothing  to  bear  his  own  troubles.     There  is  an 

aspect  of  mendicancy  in  his  conduct,  win 

iblesome,  and  which  rather  repels 
secures  the  best  regards  of  friendship  and 
offices  of  charity.     Whereas  a  person  who  is 
careful  not  to  intrude  his  sorrows  on  the  at 

rs  is  respected  for  his  manliness, 
loved  for  his  good  sense  and  forbearai 
fully  gains   the  sympathy  for   which    In 
does  not  beg.    Sympathies  flow  in  upon  such  a 
.  in  fivr  in  all  affectionate  hearts. 

Sooner  or  later  they  will  flow  in  upon  him.     If 
are  no  walls  of  prejudice  about  him,  to 
h  their  access,  they  will  flow  in  I 

f  all  olMarl.->  th'-y  will  p-adi  him 
in'v  will  reach  and  surround  tlh-  : 
who  has  shown  that  he  has  dcsrrv.-d  th«-m.  and 
m,  whi-n  th.-v  ar«-  withln-Id  or 


172    INDEPENDENCE   ON  HUMAN  SYMPATHY. 

live  and  be  refreshed  and  sustained  without 
them.  It  is  an  unquestionable  fact,  that  the 
most  generous  and  ample  sympathy  rendered 
by  man  is  not  rendered  till  the  object  of  it  has 
proved  himself  to  be  superior  to  it ;  not  coldly 
or  arrogantly  superior  to  it,  but  so  fortified,  so 
maintained  by  an  inward  might,  that  he  is  no 
needy  dependent  upon  it.  One  powerful  con- 
sideration, therefore,  for  the  cultivation  of  in- 
dependence on  human  sympathy  is,  that  the 
best  sympathy  is  finally  given  to  independence. 
A  bright  example  of  this  truth  is  the  once  de- 
serted Saviour.  What  a  crowd  of  sympathies, 
what  a  countless  pilgrimage  of  affections,  now 
flock  about  him,  on  that  loneliest  spot  in  his 
whole  life,  where  he  was  betrayed,  denied,  and 
forsaken  of  men.  All  the  sympathy  which 
has  been  rendered  to  all  the  greatest  and  wisest 
of  our  race,  is  not  to  be  mentioned  in  com- 
parison with  that  unreckoned  and  inconceiv- 
able amount  which  goes  forth  from  age  to  age, 
and  hangs  round  the  image  of  the  despised 
and  crucified ;  —  of  him,  who,  in  the  Garden 
of  Gethsemane,  in  the  Hall  of  Pilate,  on  the 
Mount  of  Calvary,  was  left  alone,  and  yet  was 
not  alone,  because  the  Father  was  with  him. 

Do  you  ask  how  this  independence,  so  indis- 
pensable, so  honorable,  is  to  be  acquired  ?  I 
refer  you  again  to  that  example.  I  refer  you 
to  the  words  of  the  text.  Jesus,  though  left 


HUMAN  87MI\\  Til  Y.     173 

-,  was  not  alone ,  because  the  Father  was 

him.      I  !••  <li-l  nut  sink  in  the  time  of  his 

desertion,  because  he  was  upheld  of  God.    He 

;  any,  and  pardon  the  de- 

-,  because  he  could  n 

•  all-sufficient  source  of  love  and  light  and 

1T- 
Where  he  resorted,  we  must  also  res< 

and  where  he  found  strength,  there  must  we 

it  also,  for  it  is  to  be  found  nowhere  else. 

•  ••  spoken  of  internal  strength,   I 

have  ;  no  strength  which  belongs  to  a 

man's  own  nature,  and  originates  in  his  own 

self;  for  I  do  not  b<  ufliciency  of 

any  such  strength  for  the  trying  emergencies 

M  cmnlition. 

"  Man's  wisdom  is  to  seek 

His  strength  in  God  alone; 

An  angel  eren  would  be  weak, 

Who  trusted  in  his  own." 

e   is   a  proud   and   hard   self-confidence, 
which  will,  to  outward  appearance,  bear  a  man 
;li  mu<  h   tribulation  and  desolateness. 
o  is  no  comfort,  no  relief,  no  refresh- 
ment, in  such  endurance  and  struggling, 
real   and   consoling  strength   can   only   come 
can  only  be  given  from  God ;  can 
the  conviction  that  God 
is  present,  that  God  hears,  sees,  pities,  and  will 
rewa;  !.      The   iranl   of   human  sympatl. 


174     INDEPENDENCE   ON  HUMAN  SYMPATHY. 

only  to  be  supplied  by  communion  with  the 
Holy  and  Eternal  Spirit.  The  defects,  the 
insufficiency  of  human  sympathy,  are  only  to 
be  remedied  by  an  abiding  and  religious  sense 
of  the  fulness  and  perfection  of  that  love  and 
care  with  which  an  Almighty  Father  watches 
over  his  children.  You  can  never  feel  isolated 
or  deserted,  if  you  have  accustomed  yourself 
to  heavenly  companionship.  Whatever  your 
sorrows,  whatever  your  loneliness  may  be,  in 
whatever  way  you  may  be  disappointed  or  for- 
saken, a  practical  faith  that  the  mightiest  of 
all  beings,  that  the  wisest  and  best  of  all 
beings,  is  ever  near  you,  fills  up  the  void, 
and  surrounds  you  with  an  eternal  sympathy. 

u  Who  is  alone,  if  God  be  nigh? 

Who  shall  repine  at  loss  of  friends, 
While  he  has  One  of  boundless  power, 

Whose  constant  kindness  never  ends ; 
Whose  presence  felt  enhances  joy, 

Whose  love  can  stop  the  flowing  tear, 
And  cause  upon  the  darkest  cloud 

The  pledge  of  mercy  to  appear?  " 

Withdraw  not  from  men  ;  but  draw  nearer 
and  more  near  every  day  unto  God.  Repel  not 
human  sympathies  ;  slight  not  the  expressions 
of  human  kindness,  however  imperfect  and  in- 
adequate they  may  be ;  break  not  with  rudeness 
a  single  tie,  though  it  have  no  more  substance 
and  strength  than  a  gossamer  thread,  which 
connects  you  with  your  brethren:  but  culti- 


ON  HUMAN 

and    before  all,    those  M -ntiir. 

f  God  a 
im  your  Fa- 

and   your    I  Then   ymi    \\ill   not 

complain  of  the  want  of  human  sympathy,  for 
you  will  be  possessed  of  a  love  which  i>  inti- 
ii  ii  you  will  not  be  hurt  by 
eeraing  chilliness  and  in 
sympathy,  because  you  will  be  convinced 
everything  human  must  be  imperfect,  and  be- 
cause you  will  be  satisfied  with  the  sufiiri 
of  God.     Th'-n  you  will  have  communion  and 
sympathy  with  Jesus  Christ,  who  lnv«-d  \\\\  \ 
most  at  that  ur  when   he  was 

forsaken  of  all  im-n,  and   wh«,   \\l,.-n   t'..i- 
and  alone,  yet  was  not  alone,  becaubo  the  Fa- 
was  with  him. 

Jtnoi  5,  1836. 


SERMON  XVI. 


CHRIST  OUR  FELLOW-SUFFERER. 

0  my  Father,  if  it  be  possible,  let  this  cup  pass  from  me.  — 
Matt.  xxvi.  39. 

To  some  most  serious  Christians,  the  passage 
which  I  have  announced  as  my  text  has  seemed 
big  with  difficulty.  They  are  accustomed  to 
view  all  the  words  and  actions  of  Jesus  through 
the  medium  of  a  preconceived  metaphysical 
theory  or  system,  by  which  he  is  indeed  mistily 
and  vaguely  magnified  to  their  imaginations, 
but  rendered  distant  to  their  understandings, 
and  uncertain  to  their  hearts.  It  has  militated 
with  their  apprehensions  of  the  nature  and  dig- 
nity of  the  Saviour,  that  he  should  sue  to  escape 
from  suffering ;  that,  when  the  figure  of  the 
cross  was  presented  to  him,  distinct  and  near, 
he  should  pray  that  a  door  might  be  opened 
through  which  he  might  flee  from  it ;  that, 
when  the  cup  of  a  bitter  death  was  held  close 
to  his  lips,  he  should  supplicate  his  Father  that 


OUR  FELLOW-SUFFERER.         177 

l>o   withdrawn   from    them.      Here   is 
iitlii -ultv,  —  that   one   of  eternal  dignity 
should  be  afm  >:n  and  death  ;  and  much 

has  been  said  and  invented  to  explain  tin*  M 

•   there  is  no  difficulty  in  this  portion  of 
Lord's  1  '  we  will  set  our  theories 

aside,  and  read  it  with  oar  sincere  and  natural 
affections.     Then  we  shall  find  that  it 
sistent,  worthy,  an  1   true  as  it  stand-,  wit 

on   or  apology.     Then   we  shall   find 
:iiu-   in    it    incnmpatiUe   \\\\\\ 

of  the  Saviour,  or  with 
'    and    filial    Mihmi-- i"ii    which 
was  so  leading  a  feature  of  his  character.    We 
shall    find   that  it   is  full  of  harmony   aud   full 

Let  us  consider  the  passage  as  it  is  simply 
presented  to  us.     If  I   read  it   with   my  1 
,  I  perceive  how  naturally  the  ejacula 
:e  from  our  Saviour's  lips,  und.-r  th<»  cir- 

tances  in  whi<  h  he  was  plac« 
in  hi-  mission  to  whi<  h  h«-  had  come;  and  it  so 

tea  me,  so  addresses  itself,  as  it  ris< 
heaven,  to  corresponding  M  \vithin  m«-. 

I  I.h-Ns  the  ••vanin-lM   i'('i*  having  recorded 
it.     My  own  human  nature  owns  a  sympathy 
in    it,  and   derives    a   support    from  it.  which    it 
ivc  owned  in  any  txhibition  of  in- 
06    to   sir'  and    could    not   have 

11 


178         CHRIST  OUR  FELLOW-SUFFERER. 

derived  from  any  words  of  excited  heroism. 
Alone,  the  dark  hour  advancing,  his  friends 
sleeping,  his  enemies  watching,  seizure  and  tor- 
ture at  hand,  his  brow  presses  the  damp  soil  of 
the  garden,  and  the  midnight  silence  is  broken 
by  his  earnest  prayer,  "  O  my  Father,  if  it  be 
possible,  let  this  cup  pass  from  me  !  "  This  is 
nature  and  this  is  truth.  I  ask  not  whether 
it  accords  with  a  divine  nature,  or  with  an 
angelic  nature  ;  I  feel  that  it  accords  with  my 
nature,  and  enters  into  communion  with  my 
nature,  and  is  of  much  more  service  to  my 
spirit  than  anything  stoical  or  foreign  from  my 
nature  could  have  been.  I  feel  that  even  the 
feebleness  of  my  nature,  in  its  seasons  of  oppres- 
sion and  sorrow,  is  spoken  to  and  sympathet- 
ically comforted  by  these  imploring  words  of 
my  Lord.  Here  is  a  perfect  nature,  speaking 
precisely  as  my  own  nature  would  be  impelled 
to  utter  itself  in  prospect  of  great  trial ;  and 
by  this  fellowship  I  am  assured  and  soothed, 
and  am  taught  that  my  feebleness,  or  what  may 
be  termed  so,  is  not  sinful,  but,  being  implanted 
by  the  Author  of  my  nature,  has  its  good  ends 
and  its  saving  purposes.  It  was,  indeed,  through 
suffering,  felt  as  it  is  felt  by  ourselves,  that  the 
perfection  of  our  Saviour's  nature  received 
its  holiest  crown ;  according  to  the  Scripture 
which  assures  us  that  he  u  was  made  perfect 
through  suffering."  And  it  is  probably  in 


<!r-. 

scene  of  his  a^nny  in  the 

'en  of  (ietliNcmane,  that  the  author  of  the 

:iks  when  he  says  of 

him,  M  \Vho   in    the  days  nt'  liis  tle-h,  when  he 

had  offered  up  prayers  and  supplications  with 

ami  tears  unto  him  that  was  able 

to  sa\     him  from  death,  and  was   heard  in  that 

IP  d  :  though  lie  were  a  Son,  yet  learned 

«-nce  by  the  things  which  lie  suffered; 

and  being  made  perfect,  he  became  the  an 

temal  salvation    unto  all    tin-in    tliat  obey 

Jesus  did  not  court  death  nor  choose  pain. 
:o  boast,  sends  forth   no  challenge. 
How  •         thifl  simplicity  from   the  de- 

portment of  some  of  his  followers  in   (iivnm- 
stan<v>   nt'  extremity,    who   have   ^one    heyond 

.    and    plunged   into  extravag;i 
and   f.inaii'-iMii.      ('..nij-are    these  worcl>   of   his 
words  of  some  of  those  martyr-  who 
d   in   his  <  an>e.     His  deprecate  agony; 
They  have  ru-hed  to  the  cross 
or  the.  stake  with  a  mad  joy;  they  have  ( 

d  with  their  awful  situation  in  wild  words 

I   sayings  by  the 

in   fiethsemane,  and 

IVM'inhle    the    hi' 
I    >ay  not    that  all 

•sses  have  in  this  mm 

•  (le«l.      1  reve.  : my  oi'  i 


180         CHRIST  OUR  FELLOW-SUFFERER. 

tyrs,  many  of  whom  have  confessed  and  suf- 
fered as  became  their  cause  in  all  things.  Nor 
do  I  mean  to  say  that  there  is  no  nature  and 
not  a  dash  of  truth  in  the  enthusiastic  bearing 
and  expressions  of  those  who  have  smiled  at 
death  and  saluted  him ;  for  I  charge  not  even 
these  with  hypocrisy.  But  the  nature  which 
they  have  exhibited  is  an  excited,  goaded,  intox- 
icated nature  ;  and  if  they  have  been  true  to 
nature,  they  have  been  true  to  the  pride  of 
nature  and  to  its  capacity  of  high  excitation. 
They  have  thus  shown  me,  indeed,  that  there 
is  something  lofty  even  in  the  errors  of  my 
nature,  when  the  original  impulse  is  given  by 
a  good  cause.  But  they  have  afforded  me  no 
proper  example.  How  could  they,  when  their 
example  has  deviated  so  far  from  that  of  our 
common  Lord  ?  They  have  offered  me  no  en- 
during sympathy  and  no  steady  support ;  for  I 
can  hold  no  enduring  sympathy  with  a  fitful 
outbreak  of  zeal  and  daring,  which  my  com- 
posed mind  cannot  approve,  and  to  which  my 
own  nature  may  not  at  any  time  be  equal ;  and 
I  can  derive  no  steady  support  from  declara- 
tions which  have  been  prompted  by  doubtful 
motives,  by  earth-born  passion  as  largely  as  by 
heaven-born  faith. 

And  when  I  search  to  the  bottom  of  this 
matter,  I  arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  no 
well-balanced,  unexaggerated,  human  nature 


r.LL 0  W-SUFFn: i  /:.       131 

or  1)  ,  or  be  indiffeivr. 

itli  :   that  is,  can  ever 

r    hr    imlitfnvnt    to    them    ahsolutrlv 

am!  illy.      It   can  be  so  sustained 

as  to  rise  MijM-ri"!-   to   tl;.-in,  ami   it   may  p: 

thrin,  v;  as  alternate  rs  ;  hut 

it  HUM  always  avoid  them  for  th- 

aakes,  it  must  always  escape  fr.-m  ihrm  it'  it 

can,    it  !y  with    honor,    self- 

•    principle  and  to  God. 

is   hittrr    ]>    hittrr,   ami   can   only 

be   sweetened   to   the    in  n    by   brim; 

<arcd  with  KM  wliicli  is  ni<>! 

or  1»;  m  the  only  means  of 

attainiii-   that  which   is  sweet  and  good  and 

essentially  desirable.     Suffering  is   -utln  iii^  ; 

and   you   cannot  tearh    human    nature   to   be 

imlihVivnt  to  it,  because  he  who  ma«l«-  it  has 

made   it  susceptible   of  suffering.      Ami    line 

that    I    fed    the  value  of  my  Saviour's 

er.     Jesus  sympathizes  with  me  whm    I 

the  prospect  of  pain  ;   for   tl 

was  an  hour  when  he   shrunk  from  it  hiin-rlf, 

in   rxtrrni.-   ilistreu,  begged  to  hr   drliv- 

t'roiu  it,  it  it  were  possible.     There  was 

i-ravrry  in    1  \veat 

from    him   like  blood,   and   he   crird 

n    of  that    last    ni'jlit,  rri'-.l  ..ut. 

th«-  cup  mi^ht   l.r   takrn  away;  and   this 

assures  n  r<  d 


CHRIST  OUR  FELLOW-SUFFERER. 

of  me  in  the  hour  of  my  distress,  and  that 
I  am  guilty  of  no  improper  weakness,  and 
prefer  no  undutiful  petition,  when  I  am  sub- 
dued and  melted,  and  pray  that  the  dreaded 
pangs  may  be  spared  me.  I  find  him  near 
to  me  in  the  valley  of  tears  and  sorrows,  not 
rebuking  me,  but  sanctifying  my  sad  appeals, 
and  permitting  me  to  borrow  his  own  words 
in  making  my  petition.  I  love  him  for  his 
simple,  undisguised,  unmingled  truth  ;  I  love 
him  for  taking  on  himself  my  nature  so  en- 
tirely ;  for  not  only  teaching  me  and  arming 
me,  but  weeping  with  me  and  even  fearing 
with  me.  And  loving  him  in  this  wise,  and 
comforted  by  his  sympathy  when  I  weep  and 
fear,  I  am  better  prepared  to  follow  and  imi- 
tate him  when  he  submits,  endures,  and  tri- 
umphs.  Reassured  in  my  trembling  and  yet 
importunate  griefs,  by  hearing  him  exclaim, 
"  O  my  Father,  if  it  be  possible,  let  this  cup 
pass  from  me,"  I  am  the  more  ready  to  pur- 
sue his  prayer,  and  add,  "  Nevertheless,  not 
as  I  will,  but  as  thou  wilt." 

My  friends,  we  are  continually  praying,  all 
of  us,  that  the  cup  may  pass  from  us.  He 
who  fears  that  illness  may  break  up  his  cher- 
ished plans,  and  cast  a  lasting  shadow  over  his 
temporal  prospects  ;  he  who  fears  that  the 
fluctuating  elements,  or  the  fickle  times,  or 
the  more  fickle  purposes  of  men,  may  reduce 


••R   FELL"  /?£/?.         183 

him   nii'i  ily   to    narrow   and  depend- 

ent j  ;  lb  who  fears  that  the  confidence 

which  he  lias  reposed  is  misplaced  and  abn 
and  that  one  whom  he  had  called  friend  will 

v  him  :  he  who  fears  that  death 
come  upon  him  unawares  an<l  prematurely, 
to  snatch  him  away  from  all  his  hopes  and 
labors,  and  from  those  who  love  him  and 
look  to  him  with  intense  observance;  all  they 
who  fear  that  they  may  be  ly  called 

to  abide  some  great  agony  of  flesh  or  s| 
will  pray  in  agony  that,  if  it  be  possible,  the 
cnj>  may  pass  from  th-Mn.     And  who  will  for- 

k   the  prayer?      Not  the  An 
and  1  of  our  faith  ;  not  he  who  prayed 

with  hU  face  on  the  ground  in  GMhtenu 
not  Jesus. 

The  once  blooming  and  liidit-hearted  chihl 
is  lying  pale  on  its  little  bed.     To  the 

questioning  of  its   parents  the  physi 
has  returned  a  grave  and  dubious  reply.    T 
look  on   its  face  with  a  feeling  which   never 
shot  through  their   hearts  till   now,  and   with 
all   t'  -stness  of  him  \\h<>   prayed    in  the 

gard  pray  that  the  dear  blossom  may 

be  spared  to  them.     O  Father!   it'  it  he  ; 

fcfek  eup  p:i<s  from  us! 
We  w«.nld  hold   th«-  child   tlion   hast  given 

:    wr  would  warm    him 
ir  bosoms  ;  we  would  listen  to 


184          CHRIST  OUR   FELLOW-SUFFERER. 


his  voice,  watch  over  his  opening  intellect, 
nurse  him  into  maturity,  lead  him  into  life  ! 
O  Father,  if  it  be  possible  !  Who  will  in- 
terrupt them  in  their  prayer  ?  who  will  chide 
them  for  it  ?  Not  Jesus. 

A  friend  has  been  by  our  side  through 
many  a  varied  year,  participating  with  us  in 
every  care,  helping  us  to  bear  every  burden, 
rejoicing  in  our  joy,  and  wounded  by  our 
sorrow.  As  he  is  still  engaged  in  kindly 
offices,  his  countenance  becomes  altered,  and 
.shows  that  the  summons  is  issued  for  his  re- 
moval, and  that  the  might  of  the  last  hours 
is  upon  him.  The  past  rises  before  us,  bring- 
ing looks,  words,  and  deeds  of  affection  and 
devotedness,  and  we  can  hardly  support  the 
thought  that  these  are  never  more  to  be  re- 
peated, but  now  there  is  to  be  an  end  of  all. 
Our  reason  and  our  religion  will  acknowledge 
that  the  separation  is  wisely  ordered  by  him 
who  holds  our  times  in  his  hand,  but  our 
human  nature  will  first  cry  out,  "  O  my  Fa- 
ther, if  it  be  possible,  let  this  cup  pass  from 
me  !  "  And  who  will  arrest  the  cry  ?  Not 
Jesus. 

Surely,  it  is  among  the  greatest  of  our  priv- 
ileges, that,  in  seasons  of  mortal  weakness, 
we  have  the  sympathy  of  him  who  was  strong 
to  conquer  death  and  the  grave  ;  that,  when 
the  cup  of  disappointment,  or  bereavement,  or 


185 

.   is  bron  in    lips,   and  we 

it  ivnmvi •<!,  we  may  be  const 
of  t!  ithv  of  the  well  beloved  Sou,  who 

prayed  tliat  the  cup  ini«Jit  also  pass  from  liiiu. 
it'  we  would  .ill   the  advantage 

of  our  S  sympathy,  h-t    n>  pro«v,-d  and 

fmi>h  his  prayer.      Let    HI   add,  with  a   r 
nation  as  humble  as  our  pleading  was  ii  i vent, 
44  N«  .  as  we  will,   hut    as   thoti 

wih."     it'  it  be  not  tlu»  will  of  God  tha: 
request,  whatever   it   may   be,   and    ho\\ 
urgent  we  may  be  in   < 'lining  it,  should  be 
grant.  1,    then   it   is   impossible,  and 
part  to  suhmit.      If  it  be  not  his  will   to  rum- 
ply  with  our  desires,  it  is  not  be>t  that 
should  IK*  complied  with  ;    it   is   neither 
good  nor  for  the  good  of  others:  in   fin-,   it 
is   not    right  ;  and    t  <>ur    Mihmi 

should  he  sincere,  ai.  ••hrrrt'ul,  though 

our  \\a-    importunate    and  sorm \\tul. 

ould   pray  with   JefUft,  \\ 
with   the;  same  temper  of  final  and 
resignation  which   animated    his  prayer,  with 
the  same  deep  conviction  that   tin-  will  «.f  our 
is  eternal  .  and   ini',:.  l«m, 

and    inti-  and    th»  >n!y 

. 

,   and   are  shown   in 

t   that  we  cannot    !•»•,  th.-n   it  •  us 

and 


186          CHRIST   OUR  FELLOW-SUFFERER. 

fortitude  and  charity  like  his.  Thus  and 
thus  only  are  we  to  enter  fully  into  his  sym- 
pathies. He  prayed  in  Gethsemane  that  the 
cup  of  suffering  and  death  might  pass  from 
him  ;  and  thrice  he  prayed  so  ;  but  each  time 
he  also  prayed  that  his  Father's  will  might 
be  done  ;  and  when  he  came  to  Calvary,  and 
the  cup  was  held  to  him,  did  he  not  drink 
it  ?  Who  ever  suffered  with  equal  constancy, 
with  equal  dignity  ?  Nor  did  he  at  any  in- 
tervening time  endeavor  to  escape  from  pain 
or  death  by  any  means  which  were  incon- 
sistent with  truth,  love,  obedience,  and  duty. 
This  was  to  him  impossible  ;  and  it  should 
be  so  to  us. 

We  learn,  then,  from  this  part  of  our  Sav- 
iour's example,  »how  truly  and  entirely  the 
tenderest  susceptibility  to  pain,  and  the  most 
intense  desire  to  be  saved  from  it,  may  consist 
with  the  holiest  resignation  and  the  firmest 
courage  and  fortitude.  We  learn  that,  though 
our  nature  may  be  shaken  to  its  foundations, 
our  virtuous  principles  must  not  yield  a  hair  ; 
that  no  prospect  of  suffering  is  to  move  us 
from  the  right ;  that  no  presence  of  suffering 
is  to  overcome  our  faith,  our  duty,  our  piety. 
We  are  not  called  to  disguise  the  appre- 
hensions and  quailings  of  our  nature  ;  for 
Jesus  did  not  disguise  his  ;  but  in  the  same 
simplicity,  the  same  directness  of  spirit,  we 


•/? 

are  to  dare,  in  the  path   <»f  evident   duty   and 
:nmandment,  we  are  to  dare  and   en- 

nd. 

And   having  learned,    in    much    trihnla:' 
and  by  solemn  e\  .  the  great  value  of 

our  Saviour's  sympathy,  it  will   hccome  n 
hold  onr  n    readiness  to  go  forth  and 

meet   him  at  all  times  ;    to  sympathize  with 
him   who  has  so  athi/ed  with 

us;  to  serve  him  who  has  liberated  and  ?a 
us.      In   many  ways  this  sympathy  is  to  be 
mani  l.v  the    faithful    deference  which 

appeals  to  his  decisions,  and  is  satisfied  with 

:  thankful  for  them  :   hy   ; 
hility  which  is  alive  to  the  abuses  of  hi-   i, 
and  the  perversions  of  his  cause;  by  the  duti- 
ful observance  which  enters  into  his  mind,  and 
adopts  his  views,  and  looks  on  mankind   with 
those  same   eyes   of  earnest   and    n 
benevolence.     He  is  not  worthy  to  resort  to 
sympathy  of  Jesus,  who  rudely  qu'-tiMi,> 
coarsely  discusses  his  claims, 
and,  most  irreverently  reversing  the  relation 
between  them,  calls  into  judgment  his  Judge. 
11     is  not  worthy  to  resort  to  the  sympathy 
of  Jesus,  who  is  careless  whether  m« -n   1 
in   him   and   obey  him,  or  n«.t  :   win.   t-    Is  no 
emotion  when  his  nai  -.  hich  every  i 

should    bow,  is  u  1    with  slight   <>r  di>- 

nent 


188          CHRIST   OUR  FELLOW-SUFFERER. 

of  his  cause  and  spread  of  his  religion.  And 
especially  is  he  not  worthy  to  resort  to  that 
blessed  sympathy,  who  is  not  melted  at  the 
thought,  that  it  was  for  him  that  Christ  wept, 
prayed,  and  suffered,  and  does  not  faithfully 
resolve  that  his  sins  shall  not  crucify  the  Lord 
afresh,  and  that  he  will  live  his  true  disciple, 
in  repentance  and  a  holy  life.  By  humility, 
by  affectionate  reverence,  by  hearty  service,  by 
love  unfeigned,  do  we  enter  into  the  mind  and 
heart  of  the  Saviour,  and  render  back  to  him 
our  sympathy,  in  free  though  poor  return  for 
his.  Then  may  we  go  to  him  at  all  times,  by 
the  path  of  this  admitted  communion,  in  times 
of  depression,  of  fear,  of  anguish,  and  we  shall 
surely  be  received  and  comforted. 

NOVEMBER  5,  1837. 


M-UMON   XVII. 


n:    DEPAKTED. 

A  little  while,  and  ye  thall  not  MO  me;  and  Again  a  little 
and  ye  thall  Me  me,  because  I  go  to  the   Father.— 
Jo*»  xvi.  16. 

No  woi  di-rlples  were  perplexed 

by  these  asseverations  of  their  MaMer,  and 
could  not  tell  what  In-  said.  1 1  is  going  away 
from  tin  -in  through  the  gate  of  death,  before 
he  had  manifested  him-elf  to  the  world  after 
their  id",-is  of  the  Messiah's  glory,  was  an  event 
h  hardly  any  form  of  words  could  make 
tin-in  n-ali/e.  How  it  was  that  in  a  little  while 
they  should  not  see  him,  not  see  him  at 
very  period  when  they  looked  to  see  him  in 
li^ht  of  his  triumphant  >plendor  ;  and 
again  how  it  was  that  when  they  did  see  him, 
it  should  be  because  he  went  to  his  Fat  1  HI, 

eould    not   rompr 

•  explanatioj  ur- 

n,  and    ascension  of  their  Lord.      When 

iv.-d    the   Spirit,  ami    had    hecome 


190  SEEING    THE  DEPARTED. 

spiritual,  then  they  perceived  the  actual  and 
spiritual  sense  of  these  words,  and  of  others 
which  had  been  equally  unintelligible  to  them 
before.  A  little  while  only  after  he  was  thus 
tenderly  conversing  with  them,  his  form  and 
countenance  were  disfigured  by  base  and  cruel 
usage,  he  was  crucified  most  ignominiously,  he 
was  laid  in  the  tomb,  and  hid  from  the  sight  of 
his  disciples.  They  saw  him  not.  The  light 
of  hope  and  of  his  presence  were  equally  ex- 
tinct. The  fires  of  pride  and  ambition  were 
put  out.  They  were  left  in  darkness.  He,  in 
whom  they  had  trusted  as  the  Redeemer  of  Is- 
rael, had  been  taken  away  before  he  had,  in 
their  view,  even  commenced  the  work  of  re- 
demption. It  was  as  if  they  had  been  sud- 
denly struck  blind.  Night  was  upon  their 
senses,  and  dismay  and  confusion  in  their 
hearts,  concealing  from  them  the  way  of  Je- 
sus. He  was  dead,  and  they  did  not  see  him. 

But  again  a  little  while,  at  the  end  of  three 
days  only,  and  they  did  see  him,  in  the  midst 
of  them,  as  before,  and  more  clearly,  more 
truly  than  before.  And  though  he  again  left 
them  at  his  ascension,  they  still  saw  him,  be- 
cause he  went  to  his  Father.  From  that  time 
forth  they  always  saw  him,  with  the  distinct 
vision  of  faith,  at  the  right  hand  of  God. 
They  never  lost  sight  of  him  more.  They 
are  with  him,  and  they  see  him  now. 


The  above  cited  passage  of  gospel   history 
has  led  me  to   the   c  of  the   two 

:    the  suoMeii    <iki 

our  best   blessings  to  the   eye  of  sense,  and 
perpetuity  and  immortality  in  t 
:h  an«l  religion. 

"  Wi.at   H   Ihtf  that  lie  Miitli,  A  little  while? 
we  c;.  il  what  he  >aith."      Thus  1 

the  unenlightened,  unrenewed  human  heart. 
A  I  ile!  Is  it  for  a  little  while  that 

these  joys,  these  gifts,  these  friends,  my  pleas- 
ant time,  my  smiling  fortune,  <lom 
which  leads  :  irh  pro- 

»cence  whieh  delight- 

the  fj  which  constantly,  though  almost 

impeiv.'j.tihly,  warms  and  cheers  me,  even  as 

lit,  —  is  it  for  a 

little  while  only  that  these  are  to  be  mine?     I 
see  no  marks  of  decay,  no  symptoms  of 
ease,  no  indications  of  vanishing,  am.-: 
I  look   for  th«-ir  increase,  for  their  maturity, 
.-  blight,  not   their  dettroctum*      What 
IS  this  that  the  monitor,  the  preacher  >ai:!:,    \ 
little  while?     Oh    no!    it  is  for  a  long,  long 
while,  >urelv,  that  I  shall  keep  and  enjoy  tl. 

An<l  tl  .  the 

departn  blessing  disappears  sud«i  nl y  ; 

sud'i  us,  because  we  thought  it  wa 

•tay  with   us.     However  lon^  we 

had  possessed  it,  we  i  it  was  only  for  a 


192  SEEING    THE  DEPARTED. 

little  while.  Days  shrink  into  minutes,  and 
years  into  hours.  0  that  while  we  had  it,  we 
had  valued  it  more,  improved  it  more.  But 
now  it  is  vanished,  and  we  see  it  not.  It  ap- 
pears not  to  our  eyes  among  the  providences  of 
God.  It  was,  and  quickly  it  was  not.  That 
is  all.  Friends  go  away,  and  we  are  slow  to 
ask  whither  they  are  gone ;  but  sorrow  fills  our 
hearts,  because  they  go  so  unexpectedly  and  so 
soon,  and  because  we  do  not  see  them.  We 
are  unprepared  to  lose  them,  and  we  feel  and 
speak  as  if  we  had  really  lost  them.  It  had 
never  been  promised  us  that  we  should  retain 
them  for  any  length  of  time.  A  little  while,  a 
little  while  only,  is  the  allotted  duration  of  that 
which  is  mortal,  and  the  warning  of  this  truth 
is  fairly  written  and  proclaimed,  and  perpet- 
ually repeated.  Did  we  ever  see  any  sublu- 
nary enjoyment  last  so  long  as  to  appear  longer 
than  a  little  while  to  him  who  held  it?  Do  not 
young  children  fall  from  the  tree  of  life  like 
blossoms  ?  Youths  and  maidens,  do  they  not 
one  year  stand  among  us  crowned  with  bloom 
and  freshness  as  with  flowers,  and  the  next,  are 
not  the  only  flowers  near  them  those  which 
are  growing  on  their  graves  ?  And  yet  we 
are  unprepared.  There  is  a  voice,  as  explicit 
as  the  words  of  Jesus  to  his  disciples,  constantly 
telling  us,  A  little  while,  and  ye  shall  not  see 
the  delight  of  your  eyes,  —  but  we  understand 


193 

with  no  more  n; 

they  did  :  and  when  the  saying  is  fultilK'il,  we 
•re  as  much  d  H-ed  a>  they 

while  we  are  thus  disappointed, 
while  earthly  hopes  and  thoughts,  fears  and 
regrets  alone,  are  in  our  hearts,  we  do  not  see 
tin-  lost  objects  of  our  1<>  vy  are  gone  ; 

not  merely  gone  to  another   place,  but  gone 

ely  away,   vanished,   perished.     We    no 
m  among  existing  things;  a; 

tian  faith  comes  not  into  our  hearts  with 
its  mist-dispelling   light,  we  never   s 
more. 

P»ut    it   is  one  of  God's  purposes  in  taking 

i    away,   that  we   shall   see   them   SL 
and  in  truer  and  more  sr  aspects  than 

before.  "Again  a  little  while,  and  ye  shall 
see  me,  because  I  go  to  the  Father."  God 
would  have  us  know  that  nothing  truly  lives, 
hut  that  \N).  with  him,  and  to  him. 

most  elf  -»acher  of  this  knowledge 

is  death.  Death  compels  us  to  look  some- 
where for  consolation,  and  we  perceive  that 

only  to  be  found  in  religion.     The  loss 
of  v  ansitory  leads  us  to  an  ac-juaint- 

ancc  with  that  which  i<  endurim:.  In  a  little 
win!  irn  lm\v  vain  it  ffifl  t<>  IMV<-  <-al- 

d  «»n  the  abiding  of  tint  which  must  go 
awa\  •  be  surprised  or  offi-n  !    1  at  the 

of  that    wli! 
13 


194  SEEING    THE  DEPARTED. 

that  it  was  going  soon.  Life  spreads  out  be- 
fore us  far  beyond  the  earthly  confines  within 
which  we  had  bounded  it,  and  ends  only  in 
God  the  Father,  in  whom  it  first  began.  And 
then  we  see  that  all  our  times  are  and  ever 
shall  be  in  his  hand.  Then  our  blessings  re- 
appear, each  one  surrounded  with  a  glory.  In 
a  little  while  the  graves  open,  and  the  buried 
ones  rise  up,  clothed  with  white  and  shining 
garments  ;  and  they  are  now  always  in  our 
sight,  because  they  are  with  their  Father  and 
our  Father. 

There  is  a  sense,  indeed,  in  which  we  see 
the  departed  without  the  intervention  of  relig- 
ion and  the  enlightening  process  of  faith.  It 
is  an  act  of  memory  which  brings  them  be- 
fore us  in  both  our  sleeping  and  waking  hours, 
and  the  tenacity  of  affection  which  will  not 
suffer  their  images  to  fade.  We  dream  of  them 
in  the  watches  of  the  night ;  and  every  place  of 
their  former  presence,  as  we  see  it  by  the  light 
of  day,  restores  to  us  their  presence  again. 
But  these  visions,  though  there  is  a  soothing, 
or,  at  least,  a  softening  influence  proceeding 
from  them,  are  deeply  melancholy  in  their 
main  effect  upon  the  mind,  when  not  intro- 
duced and  quickened  by  the  faith  which  shows 
them  in  the  care  of  the  Father  of  spirits. 
They  are  shades  only,  thin  and  flitting  shades : 
and  their  "  airy  tongues  "  can  say  no  more 


195 

i  those  whose  forms  they  are,  are  lost 
•  MiK'thing  very  touching 

to  the   hum  i  'ions,  so  touching   that    it 

has  been  copied  and  recopied,  and  engraved 
upon  iiiniirniii^  seals,  in  the  thought  which 
has  supposed  a  voice  asking  among  grass- 
grown  tombs,  u  Where  are  they  ?  "  —  and  an 
echo  from  thoM>  tomU  :  g  for  an 

ingle  word, %-  \\  It  is  very  t<> 

because  it  is  so  very  sad  ;  for  no  one  will 
say  that  there  is  any  consolation  in  it,  or  any 
Chi'  tln»  wailing  of  a  tender, 

groping,  a  dark  ami  faith- 
less heart.  He  who  possesses  the  Christian 
hope,  full  <*r  immortality,  he  who  has  perhaps 
gained  that  hope  in  -t  ot  sorrow  and 

.   will,  in 

-ame  sit  -rbear  to  arouse  by  a  do- 

spon  -stion  a  desponding  echo;  but  he 

will    look  up,  and  say,  A  little  while,  ami   ! 

u,  and  a^ain    a   little   whi 
did  sec  them,  and  I  always  >  ause 

have  gone  to  t 

Such  a  vision  i-  i>ion  of  empty  shades, 

but  _r  souls,  of  living  souls  receiving 

:ly  mjw  .stream>  o!'  life  from  the  living 

God  ;   :»n«l   not  only  !  lolinevs,  wln'.-li  is 

:    allj  all 

who  see  those  who  are  go: 
that  til* 


196  SEEING    THE  DEPARTED. 

tenances,  and  an  added  excellence  to  the  char- 
acters of  those  whom  we  thus  see  ?  And  this 
is,  I  am  persuaded,  not  merely  the  fond  sug- 
gestion of  partiality,  but  an  admonition  of  the 
very  truth,  a  reflection  of  heavenly  light  upon 
their  forms.  Are  they  not  better,  purer,  wiser 
than  before,  being  now  so  near  the  Fountain  ? 
Having  gone  to  their  Father,  are  they  not  ho- 
lier than  they  could  have  been  with  us  ?  In 
his  presence  are  not  the  virtuous  sinless,  the 
just  made  perfect,  and  the  pious  sainted  ?  We 
see  then  the  reality,  when  we  see  a  glory  round 
them  brighter  than  they  wore  on  earth.  The 
friend  or  relative  who  had  on  earth  a  few  faults, 
and  yet  as  few,  perhaps,  as  mortal  ever  had,  is 
now  to  the  religious  eye  of  our  observant  spirit 
without  fault ;  and  we  are  not  deceived,  for  it 
is  really  so.  The  child  whom  we  regarded  with 
tender,  sometimes  even  with  compassionate  love, 
as  we  gazed  upon  it  in  its  innocence  and  help- 
lessness, we  still  see  as  a  child,  after  it  has  left 
a  world  in  which  it  stayed  a  little  while.  Its 
features,  its  stature,  and  its  voice  are  still  those 
of  infancy,  for  we  can  only  see  it  in  these 
respects  as  it  was  when  it  went  away.  But 
is  not  our  love  now  mingled  with  somewhat 
of  reverence,  a  reverence  different  from  that 
which  we  feel  for  purity  alone,  and  such  as 
we  cannot  feel  for  a  child  on  earth  ?  And  is 
there  not  deep  truth  also  in  this  sentiment, 


DEPARTED.  197 

when  w<-  t  tin*  child  is  gone  from 

its  parents  on  earth,  and  lives  with  its  Father 

hat  he  who,  without 

getti;  kiei  which  are  required  of  him 

in    his    several    relation-;    here,    yet    lives,   as  a 

live,  more  and  more  in  a 

itual  world,  and  sees  the  \vorthy  ones  who  have 
departed,  because  they  have  gone  to  their  Fa- 
mn-t  1  spirit  within  him 

as,  to  outward  appearance,  he  loses  more.  T  h  e  re 
is  a  period  of  mortal  life  at  which  the  friends 
who  are  gone  begin  to  bear  a  large  proper 

ose  who  it'  they  do  not  i-\ 

numher  t!i   in.     The  Christian  man  beholds  the 
heavenly  company  increase  of  those  who  wait 
for  him.      He  finds  him-  If  living  more  in  the 
past  and  less  in  the  future  time  ..t'  his  .-n 
•ses  not   his  cheerfulness,  bu 
is  continually  acquiring   tlmu 
bonds  between  heaven  and  him  are  mnlti 
ing.     His  faithful  eye  .  and   hU  faithful 

heart  records  aiag  train  <>f  the  de- 

parte  1.  An  I  n  >t  o!ily  his  nearest  relatives  and 
most  intimate  .ire  (in  the  re-Ut'T  ol 

it  those  whose  sweetness  and  wnrth  he 
bu  known  t:  .innnmion  of  a  I- 

IH,  or  ev«-i  casual  meetings, 

•re  all  added  to  the   li>t  as  tliey  put  on   inn, 
thinks  and  with 


198  SEEING    THE  DEPARTED. 

converses,  with  increasing  frequency,  and  with 
a  pleasure  which  the  unbelieving  and  the  doubt- 
ing cannot  experience.  As  he  lives  on,  the 
number  of  his  earthly  companions  is  every  year 
decreasing,  till  perhaps  they  all  go,  and  then 
what  is  there  for  him  but  to  wait  ?  He  will 
not  grieve,  but  wait  and  hope.  The  departed 
are  not  a  source  of  sorrow,  but  now  his  only 
solace  and  joy.  In  the  cheerful  words  of  an 
old  poet,  he  may  say, 

"  They  all  are  gone  into  a  world  of  light, 
And  I  alone  sit  lingering  here; 
Their  very  memory  is  fair  and  bright, 
And  my  sad  thoughts  doth  clear." 

You  perceive  that  this  vision  is  necessarily 
and  only  the  vision  of  a  Christian  faith  and 
hope.  The  holy  dead  are  seen,  actually  seen 
as  real  existences,  because  they  go  to  the  Fa- 
ther of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Every  son  and 
daughter  of  God,  sent  here  for  a  little  while, 
and  saved  from  wandering,  returns  home  to 
the  Father.  There  they  dwell,  and  there  the 
faith  which  is  confirmed  in  Christ  will  clearly 
see  them. 

And  the  Captain  of  their  salvation,  the  first- 
born from  the  dead,  through  whom  we  have 
this  sight,  shall  not  he  also  be  seen  by  his  dis- 
ciples ?  Shall  we  not  see  the  great  friend  by 
whom  the  souls  of  our  friends  are  seen  ?  It 
must  be  a  strange  and  a  cold  faith  which  sees 


DEPAR1  199 

him  not,  which  does  not  love  to  see  him,  and 
earn  nately  to  contemplate  him. 

!  1  1  not  onl 

.  but  as  the  Lord  in  heaven.     He  was 
on  earth  1m:  1 1          ri    n,  as- 

cended, gone  to  his  Father  :  and  then-  he  con- 
is  offices  of  n  >n,  and  help,  and 
mercy,  and  can  nev<  ill  all  is 
subdiK  (1.     I  am  aware  of  nothing  in  any  < 
professedly    Christian,  —  I    am    siir<- 

—  which  i<»rl>ids  us  to  sec  our 
Lord  as  present  and  glorified,  or  to  draw  i 

im  in  the  solemn  of  the   spirit,  or 

to  lift  up  our  •  him,  if  not  in  prayer  as 

i  h>\  e  and  prai-e  and 

nest  ejaculation,  as  to  the   well    beloved   and 

•d  Son,  •  ( 'hmvh 

belov  •  ilM,\  r,  through  \\  1mm 

we  1  -'ss  to  the  Father,   and  who  ever 

:h    the    Fath 

vision  of  those  d  with 

God  can  be  only  a    lull,  and   >ati-lying,  and 
Chri  .  it  present!  them  u 

by  the  Lamb  who  is  in  th«-  mid-t  «.f  the  tlr 
and  !  •  unt-.    living    fountains   of  wa- 

MAT  6,  1633. 


SERMON    XVIII. 


THE  CROWN  OF  THORNS. 

And  when  they  had  platted  a  crown  of  thorns,  they  put  it 
upon  his  head,  and  a  reed  in  his  right  hand;  and  they  bowed 
the  knee  before  him,  and  mocked  him,  saying,  Hail,  King  of  the 
Jews !  —  Matt,  xxvii.  29. 

NEVER  but  once  did  he  whose  kingdom  was 
of  heaven  and  of  the  spirit  appear  with  the 
outward  insignia  of  royalty  ;  and  then  they 
were  forced  upon  him  in  mockery.  Never  but 
once  did  the  Prince  of  Peace  hold  a  visible 
sceptre  in  his  hand  ;  and  then  it  was  a  reed, 
with  which  his  scoffing  subjects  smote  him. 
Never  but  once  did  the  King  of  Israel  wear  an 
earthly  crown  ;  and  then  it  was  a  crown  of 
thorns,  to  pierce  his  sacred  temples,  and  first 
shed  that  innocent  and  precious  blood  which 
soon  was  to  flow  more  copiously  on  the  igno- 
minious tree. 

Our  sympathies  are  strongly  interested  in 
this  scene ;  and  our  feelings  of  compassion  for 
the  insulted  sufferer,  and  of  indignation  against 


CROWN  OF  THORNS.  201 

who  so  pitilessly  abused  him,  are 

M-d  within  us.      And  so  they  ou^ht  to  be. 
-hotild  1-  :liy  of  the  name  of  Chris- 

•  n   of  men,  could  we  contrm; 
the-  1  i  ui>ed  and  wounded   person  of  our  out- 
raged  Master   without    lu-in^    deeply  nun 

see  merit  thus  rejected,  holiness  thus 

viola  purest    and    most    di-int.-rested 

beiu  thus   shamefully  and 

serenest  glory  thus   deridinidy   and    pain- 

1,  without  haxiiii:  all  the  generous 

passions  of  our  natur  the 

meek  and  unresi-  in. 

Bn  se  passions  now,  and  }»ut 

e  >«»ul  i 

a  while  from  them,  and  in  calm  abstraction 
regard  this  scene,  with  all  its  spiritual  and 
moral  associations,  and  thru  it  will  he  seen  to 
be  a  fitting  coronation.  Yes  ;  ti 
crown  of  thorns,  its  points  gilded  with  that 
•acn  .  will  prove  to  be,  apart  l 

which  p!. 

it  tlu-rc,  the  most  fiti'  le  f«r  tin-  l»rows 

of  Jesus  of  Nazii  Kin;:  "f  tin   .I.-ws. 

\\'hat    other    crown    would    we   wi^h   to 
Among  all  the 

i     lii-lii'-ncd    hy   human    1 
'»n,  or  servility,  or  :issninf«l    hy  huinan 
.     which    would     w.-    >rl,-rt    as 


202  TnE  CROWN  OF   THORNS. 

We  have  heard  of  crowns  of  flowers,  worn 
on  occasions  of  joy  and  festivity.  Shall  we 
cull  one  of  these  ?  O  leave  them  on  the  heads 
of  the  gay  and  thoughtless.  Leave  them  to 
bloom  and  breathe  and  wither.  Such  poor, 
frail  things  would  ill  become  the  forehead  of 
the  King  of  Righteousness,  We  will  not 
join  with  his  enemies,  and  mock  him  too. 
We  will  not  mock  the  Man  of  Sorrows  with  a 
chaplet  of  flowers.  It  is  true  that  he  did  not 
come  to  forbid  social  pleasures,  or  to  frown 
away  one  harmless  delight  from  the  abodes  of 
men.  But  it  is  also  true  that  he  came  to 
restrain  excess ;  to  denounce  slothful  indul- 
gence and  voluptuousness  ;  to  incite  men  to 
serious  usefulness  and  duty,  to  moral  diligence 
and  watchfulness ;  to  refine  and  exalt  their 
pleasures,  by  redeeming  them  from  the  bond- 
age of  sense,  and  uniting  them  with  heavenly 
hope  and  holy  love ;  to  give  reality  and  satis- 
factoriness  to  their  joys,  by  resting  them  on 
secure  foundations,  and  making  them  innocent, 
spiritual,  and  thoughtful.  This  was  an  essen- 
tial part  of  his  mission.  In  performing  it,  who 
can  say  that  he  sought  pleasure,  as  men  are. 
apt  to  count  pleasure  ?  Who  can  say  that  his 
life  was  one  of  ease,  that  his  pathway  ran 
through  flowers  ?  The  rough  desert  saw  his 
temptation  and  his  victory ;  the  sad  mountains 
knew  his  footsteps,  and  listened  silently  to  his 


CROWN   OF   THORNS.  203 

The  devoted  city  and  the  grave  of 

ness    to    his   tears.      His 

le  life  was  a  toil  a  P.  1  a  contest.     From  his 

hirth,  wliieh  wa<  in  a  man;_  lood 

was  thirsted   for  by  jealous   royalty. 

-.11,   he   lal.nivd    in    an   humble 
occn  !   to  his  parents.     \V 

hi-  i  Continued,  he  was  constantly  go- 

ing about  doing  good.  1  mak- 

ing himself  acquainted  with   L  .  and 

in    all    their   form-  ;     \\hih-    they,    in  all 
thei:  «•  and  obeyed  it.    Of- 

!i    from   ]'la<-,-.  \vhithrr  he  had 
borne,  ai  -uld  have  disj»enscd, 

ition  of  God.      II      l.a«l   imt  wh«-re  to 
lay  hi-  h«-ad.      II«»w  e<>ul<!  -\vn  of  pleas- 

it  at  all?     It  \\as  lit'ted   up  fearlessly 
tumults  of  the  j 
•  of  the   rieh  an  i 

jll>t    1..-.-H    IM.UIM!     ill     lue.-k     Sll!    I 

"f  agony  which  his   1 

him    t..  drink.      It   is  now  raised   in   calm  and 
jiity,    ]»ale    and 

1    hii-e!ii)^>,    •  k    of 

scon.  ••  hieh  mn\e  it  not.      Ap- 

h    it    not    with    flowers.        Let    the    itenij 
shai ;  »     Strip  1  for 

"'. 

«-k   him.      They  have 
wov  n   for   the    browa  of 


204  THE  CROWN  OF   THORNS. 

suffering  virtue.  Let  it  stay  —  till  it  is 
changed  by  his  own  Father's  hand  for  the 
crown  of  eternal  joy  and  glory. 

But  there  are  crowns  which  monarchs,  con- 
querors, and  heroes  wear  :  crowns  of  laurel  for 
victors  ;  crowns  of  gold  and  gems  for  reigning 
princes.  Shall  we  not  choose  one  of  these,  the 
greenest  or  the  brightest,  wherewith  to  crown 
our  Lord  ?  Who  shall  do  it  ?  Who  will  com- 
mit that  essential  error  of  the  Jews,  by  treat- 
ing the  Messiah  as  a  temporal  conqueror  or 
sovereign,  or  offering  to  him  the  emblems 
which  are  so  coveted  by  them  ?  Take  away 
the  toys.  Let  them  not  come  into  this  hal- 
lowed presence.  They  would  only  show  how 
dim  and  worthless  they  are,  near  to  that  un- 
earthly majesty,  and  by  the  side  of  that  crown 
of  thorns.  Take  away  the  laurel  wreath  —  it 
is  stained  with  human  blood.  There  is  blood, 
too,  upon  the  thorns  —  but  it  is  the  Saviour's 
own.  It  is  his  own  blood  which  he  now  begins 
to  shed  for  the  liberty  and  the  happiness  of  his 
brethren,  and  not  the  blood  of  his  brethren, 
poured  out  after  the  manner  of  conquerors, 
for  his  own  aggrandizement.  It  is  his  own 
blood,  dropping  doWn,  not  for  dominion  or 
fame,  but  for  truth,  and  peace,  and  virtue. 
He  fought ;  but  not  with  carnal  weapons,  and 
not  to  enslave  the  bodies  of  men,  but  to  eman- 
cipate their  minds,  and  to  redeem  their  souls. 


CROWN  OF   THORNS.  205 

not  at  the  instigation  of  the  lusts 
of   tl.  .   and    in  C6   to    tlu-m,    l>ut 

>everingly  against   tl 
He  (  1  ;  but  not  to  increase  the  p< 

to  weaken  and  destroy  it,  to  over- 
throw the  hosts  of  darkness,  to  burst  the  bonds 
of  sin  and  the  grave.  In  this  \\;utaiv  !««•  m- 

and    tliirst,  pain,  re- 
proa*  -ontradiction.     Humility,  | 
meekness,  long-suffering,  forgiveness,  —  it  was 

icse  that  the  battle  was  fought  and  M 
Take  the  laurel  wreath  away.     It  t- Us  not  of 
struggles  and  vie  .      1  In    bare 

ami  rugged  thorns  are  a  more  ev 

crown  for  him  who  loved  us  and  gave 

us,  and   by  his   death    d 

death.     Neither  bring  the  gemmed  diad«-ms  of 
ad.     They  liave  been   too  nun -h 
degraded  and  soiled  by  the  hands  which  ! 
usurped   them,  and  the  heads  on    which 
have   descended.     They  have  clasped   1  i 
which   were   on    fire   with    mad   ambition,  or 
teeming  with  dark  schemes  of  tyranny.     '1 
have  sat  idly  on  heads  which  were  empty  of 
_:ht,  or  only  thinking  of  some  selli-li    in- 
dulgence;  careless  of  -.\anK  and  Mudi- 
ous  only  to  create  or  |  Why 
should  they  be  brought   h  r-  ?     At  best  : 
signi                        il,  flnelMtingi  and  temporary 

roved  ai 


206  THE   CROWN   OF   THORNS. 

cised,  which  human  fancy  and  will  may  over- 
turn, which  a  few  hours  may  transfer,  and 
which  death  will  soon  cover  up  in  dust.  Why 
then  should  they  be  brought  here  ?  Here  is  a 
king  anointed  directly  from  on  high,  with  the 
unmeasured  Spirit  of  God.  Here  is  a  ruler 
who  rules  over  -the  spirits  of  men,  and  will 
rule  forever ;  for  his  voice  hath  gone  forth  into 
all  lands,  his  words  unto  the  ends  of  the  world. 
Here  is  a  monarch  unto  whom  power  has  been 
committed,  real,  permanent  power,  over  nature, 
over  fear,  and  over  time.  And  it  is  through 
suffering  that  he  holds  it,  and  in  endurance 
and  self-denial  that  he  exercises  it :  not  con- 
sulting his  own  will,  but  that  of  his  Father, 
nor  his  own  ease,  but  the  welfare  of  all  men, 
yea,  of  his  enemies.  Here  he  stands,  in  the 
hall  of  a  Roman  viceroy,  who,  with  all  his 
power,  has  weakly,  and  against  his  own  wish 
and  judgment,  surrendered  a  just  and  innocent 
one  to  a  furious  multitude  and  a  bloody  death. 
Here  he  stands,  amid  insulting  cries  and  fero- 
cious blows,  supreme  and  kingly  in  suffering 
love  ;  bound,  and  yet  the  only  free  one  there  ; 
a  prisoner,  condemned  to  the  cross,  and  yet 
redeeming  countless  spirits  from  captivity  and 
death  through  the  grace  of  his  righteousness, 
and  the  royal  might  of  his  overcoming  fortitude. 
Compare  his  crown  of  thorns  with  Pilate's 
royal  cincture  —  and  say  which  is  the  truest 


CROWN  OF  THORNS.  207 

;   victory.       N 
I  thorn  more 
:,  more   spiritual    mi-lit,  more 

. 

compass    of    a    diadem  ?     That 
rue  crown.     Displace 

1  the  king  of  Israel. 

L   :    :'.  1,  as  h«- 

passes    out   :  dishonored    chair 

of  justice,   reigning,   though    a   prisoner   and 

to  death,  in  calnme-  ,ity  over 

.es  of  the  ru>liing  crowd.      I 
remain,  as  ho  proceeds    through    the    >t 

way  to  ( '  .  pale  and  weary, 

ing  to  tears  and  j.itilul  lam.'iiiation 
r  daughters  of  Jerusalem,  but  <|ucllin-  in  j- 
r  pea<  notions  of  his  own  n  . 

:i,  while   lie    i>   nailed   to   the 
i  and  one  an*l  feet  are 

-(I  aii-1   lacerated  ;   l<>r  hi>  >j»irit   holds  do- 

Beth 

be  made  to  suffer.     Let  in,  uhil< 

who  pass  by  are  wagging  their  heads  and 
scoffing  at  him  :  rior  to  such  poor 

iying 

tor  the  liir^iv-ni'.ss  of 
lies  and  'i  •  hi-  i-  indeed  an 

•v,    such    as    tip-    world    lias    n 

I.        it.     remain,    while    the 


208  THE   CROWN  OF   THORNS. 

darkened  sun  and  trembling  earth  are  giving 
signs  of  their  homage  to  the  crucified  Son  of 
God.  Remove  it  not  from  the  cold  brows, 
serene  in  death,  till  he  is  taken  down  from 
the  cross  and  laid  in  the  new  tomb  beneath. 
Then  unbind  it,  that  he  may  rest  a  Sabbath 
rest  after  his  labor  and  his  victory. 

And  let  us  learn  from  this  crown  of  thorns, 
that  there  is  majesty  in  sorrow,  and  that  suffer- 
ing is  of  itself  a  crown.  Everywhere  there  is 
proof  of  this  truth.  Who  has  not  been  sub- 
dued and  awed  by  another's  mighty  sorrow  ? 
Who  has  not  been  elevated  by  his  own  ?  It 
gives  dignity  and  wisdom  to  the  simple ;  brings 
reflection  and  sobriety  to  the  thoughtless ;  and 
makes  the  humble  and  weak  strong  and  in- 
vincible. The  house  of  mourning  is  a  palace, 
and  they  who  enter  its  gates  observe  a  reveren- 
tial -silence,  or  speak  with  reverence,  as  in  the 
presence  of  majesty. 

To  resign  ourselves  in  suffering  to  the  will 
of  our  heavenly  Father,  is  to  sit  down  on  the 
throne  of  his  Son.  It  is  especially  so  when  we 
endure  tribulation  in  the  cause  or  for  the  sake 
of  holiness.  "  Blessed  are  they  who  are  per- 
secuted for  righteousness'  sake,  for  theirs  is  the 
kingdom  of  heaven."  To  suffer  for  truth  and 
virtue  is  to  reign  with  celestial  power,  to  gov- 
ern with  spiritual  and  divine  prerogative.  De- 
sires and  passions  are  ruled  ;  fears  are  banished  ; 


OF    TIl'tRNS.  209 

woH  .inities  and  pi 

fall  down  at  •mr  feel  :  truth  flourishes,  and 
tnd  looks  up,   whm  the  soul 
ami  riol  1  put  on 

n    endurance.      \\'!i.-n  u  6 
<*   and  love,  inunnuriiii:   not, 
and  i  not,  do  we  not  wim  « m   Sa\  iour's 

ingdom,    which    is    tin- 
lorn  of  heaven? 

whrn    we    in  l,    if 

grief  and   pain    l>rin^   considoratinn,   \\hich    is 
if  sorrow  work   ivpentanrr,  and  if 
thus  t.nr  excesses  be  cut  off,  our  evil  passions 
and  habits  be  co:  .  tin*  ivln-lli..: 

1  nature  be  subdued,  and  tin- 

goal    bt»   h'd    1-ark  •••  (  i«»d,  thru. 

will  suilcring  be  the  sign  of  rinj>iiv,  and  sit  on 
lirmvs  like  a  crown. 

orns  spring  up  in  the  various  paths  of  all 
.     We  cannot  avoid  them,  nor  pr< 

us.    But 

is  be  comforted,  yea,  let  us  be  thankful  to 

my  weavr   th«  in   into  crowns 

them  to  Christ's  passion,  and  offer 

i ,  and  bear  them  in  his  cause, 

fat  \\\^  ^;i 

MARCH  27,  1831. 
14 


SERMON   XIX. 


RECOGNITION   OF   FRIENDS. 

Father,  I  will  that  they  also  whom  thou  hast  given  me  be 
with  me  where  I  am.  —  John  xvii.  24. 

IT  is  not  from  any  vague  or  doubtful  infer- 
ences that  the  Christian  derives  his  belief  of  a 
future  world.  His  faith  is  more  direct  and 
steadfast.  Christ  has  risen  from  the  dead,  and 
become  the  first  fruits  of  them  that  slept.  The 
resurrection  of  our  Lord,  who  was  made  in  all 
things  like  unto  his  brethren,  is  an  argument 
for  man's  immortality  which,  at  the  same  time 
that  it  is  more  convincing  than  any  which  phi- 
losophy has  urged,  is  so  plain  that  its  force 
is  immediately  acknowledged  by  the  humblest 
understanding. 

My  object  at  present,  however,  is  not  to  con- 
sider the  proofs  of  a  future  existence,  but,  as- 
suming the  truth  of  the  doctrine  as  revealed 
in  the  gospel,  to  ascertain  how  far  it  may  en- 
courage us  in  a  belief  of  a  reunion  with  our 
departed  friends  in  heaven.  It  is  an  inquiry 


it  I  ENDS.  i'H 

of  t!  -t.     The  hopes  and  fears 

which  it  involves  are  among  the  most  power- 
ful  which   can   animate   or   distress  the   btU 
bosoi  consolations  which  it  may  afford 

are  among  tl.  -st  and  dearest  which 

be  h:  to   affliction,  when    >he   ntfl    it. 

dust  and  weeps  for  those  who  are  not.     Let  us 
then  hi'j  ther,  afte  ,11,  or 

shall  not  be  forever  united  with  each  oth«  r. 

me,  who  perhaps  have  not  duly  consid- 

:  among  those  merely 

speculative  ones,  on  \vhi«-h  we  ,-an  n< 

in  t!  ii  any  sa  n.     Such 

are  the  questions:    V  i  to  be  ? 

•   nccn|.ati..n>    t!,  What 

kind  "t'  bodies  shall  On 

these    pa  we    may   form    our   several 

tea  it  we  please,  but  there  exist  no 
grounds  for  satisfactory  conclusions.    W«-  must 
remain   in  ignorance;    and   it  is  of  no  <_ 

-li'Uild  I'C  inl'nrni'-d.      lint 

ire   shall  and 

recognize  hereafter  those  whom  we  knew  and 

1  in  this  world,  is  nf  .jnite  an- 
ter,  of  more  interest  and  importance  than  ; 

and    admitting   of  a   more   easy   and 
reasonable  solution. 

In  Mipport  of  this  .  !   will  observe,  in 

\vhieh    is 
i    in- 


212  RECOGNITION   OF  FRIENDS. 

dividuals  as  individuals,  of  each  person  in  his 
distinct  personality.  Few  will  maintain  that 
comfortless  system  of  antiquity,  which  teaches 
that  the  human  soul  is  to  be  absorbed,  after 
the  death  of  the  body,  into  the  spirit  of  the 
universe.  What  satisfaction  can  it  give  us  to 
know  that  we  shall  not  be  entirely  lost  in  the 
great  creation,  if  we  are  also  to  know  that  we 
must  resign  all  separate  perceptions^  and  pleas- 
ures, and  never  must  think,  feel,  or  enjoy,  as 
distinct  existences  ? 

It  will  be  readily  granted,  therefore,  that 
we  shall  live  hereafter  as  separate  and  distinct 
individuals,  —  as  truly  so  as  we  exist  in  the 
present  life.  And  yet  from  this  unpretending 
and  almost  self-evident  postulate  may  clearly 
be  deduced  the  doctrine,  which  some  please  to 
call  a  speculative  one,  of  the  reunion  and 
recognition  of  friends  in  a  future  state. 

If  it  be  evident  that  we  are  to  exist  as  dis- 
tinct individuals,  it  is  equally  evident  that  we 
must  know  ourselves  to  be  the  same  individ- 
uals who  existed  here.  For,  if  we  are  not  to 
be  made  certain  of  that,  a  resurrection  will  be 
equivalent  to  another  creation,  —  to  the  forma- 
tion of  a  race  of  beings  with  whom  we,  who 
now  live  on  the  earth,  can  have  nothing  to  do. 
That  the  belief  of  a  future  state  may  exert  the 
least  influence  over  our  conduct,  it  is  necessary 
that  we  should  also  believe  that  we  shall  be 


HIEND8.  213 

able  then,  with  ourselves 

as  we  arc  no  rwise  our  heliet'  will  1'ur- 

ni>h  no  .  nor  any  consola 

:  irther    evident,    that,    if  we   are    to 
be   c  i   of  our   identity   with    our    for- 

mer selves,  we  must  be  conscious  of  the  acts 
of  our  i  nee  ;  especially  if  we  re- 

gard .ture  state  as  a  state  of  ret 

For  it   is   impo-MMe  to  conceive   how 
we  can  be  the  subjects  of  reward  or  j.imMi- 
:,  withoir  sensible  of  what  we  had 

done  ted  on  earth,  to  render  us  deserv- 

ing 0  are  to  be  conscious 

of  the  acts  of  our  former  existent  are 

to  remember  our  conduct  while  we  were  on 
the   earth,  we   nm-t  those 

among  whom  we  had  our  conversation,  those 
who,  in  a  great  measure,  made  our  con 
what  it  was.     Our  duties  .  limit-,  sins, 

and   vices    arise  almost   altogether  from    the 
•ions   of  society.     We   cannot   r< 
"lie   without    calling   to    mind    the    ol 

^eparably  united,  and  /ma- 

It   I  should  ren 

ber  that    I    had   done   a   j»:irtieuhir    injury  on 
earth,  I   :  ;,im  whom    I    inj 

diould  r  -;  .•   I  "'d  a 

icular  act 

person  whom    I   assisted.      Ho-.v 


214  RECOGNITION   OF  FRIENDS. 

more  should  I  remember,  in  the  review  of  my 
life,  those  with  whom  I  had  been  connected  in 
the  daily  and  most  intimate  intercourse  of  life ; 
those  who  had  exercised  the  most  efficacious 
influences  in  the  formation  of  my  character ; 
those  who  had  called  forth  and  gained  and  kept 
the  best  affections  of  my  heart.  The  recollec- 
tion of  my  former  self  and  my  former  associates 
must  be  produced  together,  and  from  the  same 
principle.  If  the  one  be  evident,  the  other  is 
so  too. 

We  have  now  a  direct  inference  of  the  mu- 
tual recollection  of  friends  in  a  future  state, 
from  the  Christian  doctrine  of  the  resurrection 
of  each  individual  to  a  distinct  existence.  And 
so  well  am  I  satisfied  that  the  inference  is 
rational  and  sound,  that  I  could  hardly  tell 
which  of  the  two  doctrines  I  most  firmly 
believed. 

But  the  recollection  of  our  friends,  and  a 
reunion  with  them,  are  not  one  and  the  same 
thing.  There  is  still  another  step  to  be  taken, 
from  the  one  to  the  other.  We  may  recollect 
our  friends,  and  yet  not  be  permitted  to  recog- 
nize or  rejoin  them.  But  is  this  probable  ? 
Can  we  for  a  moment  suppose  it  ?  Will  God 
disappoint  our  most  cherished  expectations  ? 
Will  he  condemn  us  to  preserve  in  our  mem- 
ory the  shadows  of  those  we  loved,  while  he 
denies  to  us  their  society  and  sympathy  ?  Are 


v  ur  FRIENDS.  215 

we  not  only  doomed  to  endi;  pangs  of 

sepai  in  them  here,  Uit  to  know  in  the- 

futu:  that  when  \\  e  \ye 

?     The  supposition  is  incon- 
sistent with  the  goodness  of  our  Creator,  and 

>ed  as  such.      We  shall  not 
only  remember,   but  rejoin,   in   the  heav. 
worl  riends  from  whom  we  had  been 

is  another  course,  yet  more  direct,  if 
possible,  than  the  above,  which   will    bring  us 
ie  same  conclusion.     It  involves  no  sub- 
or  in'  ussions,  and   consists  in 

to  as  simple  a  question  as  could 
be  asked.     The  question   is  this  :     Are 
we,  or  are  we  no:  world  above,  to  live 

alone  ?     Are  we,  or  are  we  not,  to  h 
death,  an   ctrrnity  of  solitude  ?     This   is    the 
only  alt<  Each  soul,  in  its  glorified 

state,  must   «  ave  a  range   en 

itself,  which  shall  never  approach  tli 

:    soul,  or  it  must  associate  with 
its  kindred.     It  in  solitude  or  in 

socir  r  any  one  put  this  plain  question 

cannot  1.  iving 

his  answer.     He  will  it  is  con- 

trary to  sound  reason    to  imagine  an  eternal 
>f  loneliness;  and  he  will  decide  that   the 

}><•   a    life   of   soci' 
1  what  society  can  it  I 


216  RECOGNITION  OF  FRIENDS. 

By  whom  shall  we  be  surrounded  but  by  our 
friends  ?  With  whom  shall  we  live  if  not  with 
our  friends  ?  What  beings  will  be  more  likely 
to  partake  with  us  the  joys  of  heaven  than 
those  who  shared  with  us  the  joys  and  the 
sorrows  of  earth  ?  What  souls  will  be  so 
probably  associated  with  our  own  as  those 
to  which  our  own  had  been  endeared  and 
assimilated  by  education,  habit,  intercourse, 
and  time  ?  Among  the  innumerable  hosts  of 
heaven,  shall  we  be  denied  the  sight  of  those 
whom,  of  all  others,  we  most  wished  to  see  ? 
In  the  vast  assembly  of  spirits,  shall  we  search 
in  vain  for  those  whom  we  seek  most  eagerly  ? 
Will  the  only  blank  in  creation  be  that  which 
we  are  the  most  desirous  to  fill  ?  Will  the 
only  wounds  which  are  left  unhealed  be 
those  which  death  had  inflicted,  and  which 
we  hoped  that  immortality  would  cure?  Our 
feelings,  our  reason,  our  common  sense,  will 
at  once  reply  that  it  cannot  be  so. 

When  we  ask  for  scriptural  evidence  of  the 
reunion  of  friends  in  a  future  state,  are  we  not 
answered  by  every  passage  from  Scripture 
which  speaks  of  that  state  as  a  social  one  ? 
And  the  fact  is,  that  it  is  spoken  of  there  in 
no  other  way.  Whether  the  mention  is  inci- 
dental or  direct,  it  constantly  presents  heaven 
to  our  thoughts  as  a  place  or  state  in  which 
the  righteous  shall  meet  together,  not  exist 


•j  i ; 

rately.      If   we  listen  to  Jesus,  we  hear 

him  ;v  he  is  his  ,•'  -hall 

•irn  to  tin;  Kpi-th^,  Paul    tells 

.  shall  appear,  we 

also  shall   a;  h    him    in   ;Jory  ;   and  the 

writer  of  th  'to  the   Hul 

N\ith    rapture   to   the  u  general    assembly  ami 
ehmvh  uf  the  first-born,  which  ar  n   in 

heaven."     If  we  pass  over  to  that  grand  vis- 
•< includes   the   books  of  the   New 
Testament,  we  hear    in  %ias  it  n 

the   voice  of  a  great   multitude,  and   as 

of   many   waters,    and    as    t  -e  of 

.ty    tlmn  .    and    the    V..'KM-  i,f  ha; 

with   thrir    harps."      The   hh-ssrd    in 

•sented   as    1 

society,    as   being    with    thrir    l.n-thivn,   with 
angels,  with  tlu-ir  Sa-  I  with  their  Ood. 

Now,  hanllv  anything  can  seem  to  be  jilai 
than  that,  a-  is  a  social   and   not  a 

tary  stat-  .  --ho  live  together  tli< 

must   know  ea<-h    «.th«-r   ti 
And  it  is  one  of  the  most  reasonable  of  all 
proj>  we  carry  any  a 

they  will  tly 

of   all  to  sali  >  in   thi>  si.i 

tli«-ir  eh«-ri^hed   ohjrcts.     \Vh«-n  fl 

:iv  of  th«-  re  vvill 

she  not,  if  ;*!,  a   anything  .*!'  li.-i 


218  RECOGNITION   OF  FRIENDS. 

self  and  nature,  if  she  have  not  lost  her  iden- 
tity and  the  consciousness  of  it,  will  she  not 
ask  for  "  the  babe  she  lost  in  infancy  ?  "  If 
she  be  herself,  she  will  ask  for  it.  If  God  be 
good,  she  will  find  it,  know  it,  embrace  it. 
How  she  will  find  it,  by  what  marks  know 
it,  and  with  what  exercises  renew  her  love, 
must  be  left  for  immortality  to  reveal  ;  but  the 
rest,  the  simple  fact  of  recognition,  is  plain,  — 
so  plain  that  I  am  disposed  to  think  that  the 
reason  why  so  little  is  said  in  the  Scriptures 
of  future  recognition,  is,  that  it  was  consid- 
ered as  naturally  implied  and  involved  in  the 
fact  of  a  future  social  state.  On  such  a  sub- 
ject, intimation  is  equivalent  to  distinct  decla- 
ration, and  is  sometimes  even  more  forcible. 
Let  us  see  if  there  be  not  such  intimations  of 
future  recognition  to  be  found  in  the  Scrip- 
tures as  amount  to  a  declaration  of  the  fact, 
because  they  cannot  be  fully  explained  except 
on  a  supposition  of  the  fact. 

Recognition  is  intimated  by  exhortations  to 
comfort  on  the  loss  of  friends.  The  burden 
of  our  sorrow  in  the  loss  of  those  whom  we 
love,  is,  that  we  have  lost  their  society,  which 
was  the  very  dearest  thing  on  earth  to  us  ;  the 
most  applicable  consolation  which  can  be  of- 
fered to  alleviate  this  burden,  is,  that  their 
society  is  not  lost  to  us  forever,  that  we  shall 
enjoy  it  once  more,  that  we  shall  meet  again. 


v/>5.  219 

Now,  what  says  St.  Paul,  in  his  I  the 

-alnnian-  '.'       M  I   v.    old  8   yon   to 

be  L  n,  concerning  them  which 

are  asleep,  that  ye  sorrow  n<  is  others 

which  have  no  hope.     For  if  we  lu-lu-vr  tiiat 
Jesus  died  and  rose  again,  even  so  them  also 
•  '•••ms  will  God  bring  with  him." 
Beautiful    \\»>!<N   «f  assurance  and   < 
How  soothingly  they  fall   on  the  wounds  of 
11   counsels   the  apostle   soon 
••lie  another  \vith 
An<l  what  makes  them  so 
ing  ?     Not   sim|>ly   the   :i 
of  restoration    to  life,   a  waking  up  of 

•n  asleep,  l»ut   th 

collection,  associ  i  .uinn,  which  tlu«  lan- 

guage supposes,  and  wliirh  is  so  pertinent  to 
case  of  separation  to  which   they  are  ad- 
dressed.    As  Jesus  rose  from  tin*  (load,  even 
SO  God  will  ami   lirin^  icith   him  those 

who  slept  in  him  ;  fc-  and  so,"  says  th 
"shall  we  ever  be  with  the  Lord."  who 

have  been  parted,  shall  again  be  unit- •<!,  an<l 

•  •••  our  head,  and  we  shall  part  no 
That  is  consolation  ;  c  l«i«'h 

-  the  case  of  distress. 

by  a  comparison,  let  us 

ose  it  to  be  i  ;iily, 

t  mutual  all-  "iild 
th«-    laml    W 


220  RECOGNITION   OF  FRIENDS. 

brought  up  together  to  another  land,  which 
is  distant  indeed,  but  far  better ;  and  to  be 
equally  necessary  that  they  should  remove, 
not  all  together,  but  one  by  one,  and  that 
there  should  be  an  interval  of  a  considerable 
space  of  time  between  each  removal.  When 
one  member  of  this  family  departed  for  the 
place  of  his  destination,  what  would  be  the 
most  appropriate  consolation  which  could  be 
offered  to  those  who  remained  behind  ?  Would 
they  be  fully  comforted  by  being  told  that 
he  who  had  just  gone  away  had  gone  to  a 
country  which  enjoyed  a  more  delightful  cli- 
mate than  that  which  he  had  left,  where 
he  would  live  in  health  and  at  ease,  and  that 
they  themselves  would  in  due  season  be  called 
to  the  same  country,  though  to  be  sure  they 
would  live  in  different  parts  of  it,  and  not 
be  allowed  to  see  each  other  any  more  ? 
Would  they  be  satisfied  with  this  account  of 
their  dispersion,  though  it  were  to  take  place 
in  "  a  land  which  is  the  joy  of  all  lands  "  ? 
It  would  be  imperfect  consolation  compared 
with  the  assurance  that,  in  that  far,  happy  land, 
they  were  to  be  reunited,  after  the  term  of 
their  temporary  separation,  and  renew  the 
intercourse  which  in  a  bleak  clime  and  a 
barren  country  had  constituted  their  joy  and 
their  wealth.  That  would  be  consolation ; 
and  such  a  reunion  would  be  implied,  and 


\ns.  L>-JI 

would    n  !    implied,    it' 

!d    l>y  a  <y  input:  !    not 

to  30.  their  ]nvs  as  tlu- 

but  to  look  forward  to  the  land  wlinv  their 
relat  gone,  and  to  which  they  N\ 

to  1»  \  es. 

passages  besides  the  one  above  ad- 
duced   mi-lit    he    quoted,    containing    intimn- 
th«'    ian  '»se.      Ti. 

U  of  the  tact  of  reco. 

but  we   cannot   read    tin  -in  \vitlnmt    HIJ.J  osing 
:  was  in  mind,  and 

in-lrrd  In-  had   no   <  iln» 

subject   1  should 

after   the    n*  \\lmm 

kn«»\vn 

The  scriploral  :•  of  fin 

reunion  -nitiMn,   \vlih    v,  lildi   tln»  de- 

ductions of  probability,  the  n 
son,  and   the   dictates   of  the   affections 

to  thl-.      II  a  social 

state.      I:  fri<     Is  are  found  wor- 

tliy  of  an   entrance   into   that  st.r  shall 

of  its  society,   and   • 

•id  know  ear:  Thej    who 

I   here,   if  they  are  al>o 
.  (i..d,  \\ill  lie  near  to  us  t 
things  being  equ  to  us 

.ij.ly    l>ee.i  LOWH 

.:»d  longer,  au  tln-m  h. 


222  RECOGNITION  OF  FRIENDS. 

than  others,  and  have  associations  with  them 
so  interwoven  with  our  earthly  or  former  life 
that  they  can  scarcely  be  destroyed  or  dis- 
turbed except  with  our  consciousness  and 
memory. 

Nor  can  I  see  that  the  restoration  of  friends 
to  each  other's  society  in  a  future]  state  is 
inconsistent  with  that  universal  and  heavenly 
love  which  will  animate  the  bosoms  of  all  the 
blessed.  Particular  affection  for  those  with 
whom  we  have  been  particularly  connected  is 
not  inconsistent  with  a  kind  and  generous 
affection  for  many  friends,  for  all  the  good 
from  all  ages  and  all  countries  of  the  world, 
to  whom  the  better  country  will  be  the  great 
and  final  meeting-place.  The  ground  of  this 
particular  affection  is,  the  relation  which  in- 
dividuals have  held  toward  each  other  in  this 
life  ;  and  this  life,  though  short  in  duration, 
and  poor  and  unimportant  when  compared 
with  the  next,  is  yet  the  introduction  to  the 
next,  the  scene  of  probation  for  the  next,  the 
life  in  which  our  affections  and  virtues  have 
been  formed  and  educated,  and  have  acquired 
their  private  associations  ;  and  it  is  therefore 
not  to  be  supposed  that  all  this  is  to  be  made 
a  blank  hereafter,  as  if  it  had  never  been. 
"  And  when  we  reflect,"  says  Bishop  Mant,* 

*  In  a  small  volume  entitled  The  Happiness  of  the  Blessed. 


'V   OF  /  KfENDS. 

pleasure  which    is  imparted  to  our 
r  long  separation. 

•y  of  those  whom  we  have  known 
and  1cm  ars,   but  from  whom 

we  have  be« 

porary  separation  ;  and  on  the  special  de 
which  we  experi-  mi;,   in   com- 

munion with  them,  old  l>ut  dorma;  ions, 

•in;:  in  r<»nversi*i"ii  the  events  of  scenes 
gone  by,  and  dwelling  upon  affairs  of  mutual 
pers"  -rest,  —  a  d'-li^ht  \\lii«-li 

»n  of  no   new  acquaintni  \ir- 

tnou-,    however    i:  Dt,    Imwrvi-r    ainial.l.', 

is  for  the  most  \  id  capable  of  co: 

ring ;  it  may  be  thought  probable  that,  among 
tlun  associates,  considered  as  con^ 

ents   of  tli"    happiness    of  the   blessed,   those 
whom  tl  e  formerly  known  and   loved 

and  I  will  be  con  and  that 

company  of  the  spirits  of  other  just  in. -n 
made  perfect  will  not  preclude  a  readmi 
to  the  fellowship  of  their  former  connections 
and  friends."     In   short,    1«  t   it  only   be 

I  that  frirnds  are  worthy  of  each  other's 
love  in  heaven,  and  it  is  no  more  than  rational 
to  suppose  that  tln'V  will  d«-ri\v  a  |.«-«-uliar 
Satisf'a<-ti"n  in  radi  Otfaer'l  BOCiety  there  ti"iii 
h  wliirh  Providence  had 
boui  iring  their  sojourn  on 


224  RECOGNITION   OF  FRIENDS. 

But  here  an  objection  has  been  made,  founded 
on  the  question  of  worthiness.  If  some  with 
whom  the  good  have  been  connected  here  be- 
low should,  from  their  un worthiness,  be  ex- 
cluded from  the  delights  and  the  society  of 
heaven,  the  good,  it  has  been  said,  will,  on  the 
supposition  of  their  knowing  this,  suffer  pain ; 
and  pain  cannot  be  suffered  in  heaven. 

A  few  considerations  may  remove  this  objec- 
tion. In  the  first  place,  though  pain  will  not 
be  suffered  in  heaven,  there  is  no  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  a  certain  degree  of  regret  may  not, 
and  that  this  regret  will  be  so  consonant  with 
our  sense  of  justice  that  happiness  will  not 
thereby  be  essentially  disturbed.  Heaven  is 
represented  as  a  place  where  there  will  be  "  no 
more  pain."  This  is  in  order  to  give  an  idea 
of  its  exemption  from  the  accidents  and  deaths, 
the  sorrows  and  alarms,  to  which  we  are  sub- 
ject here.  But  such  a  representation  of  future 
bliss  by  no  means  excludes  the  idea  of  imper- 
fection. And  if  the  soul  is  to  make  progress 
hereafter,  and  rise  from  glory  to  glory,  and 
from  one  step  of  happiness  to  another,  the  idea 
of  imperfection  must  be  necessarily  attached  to 
such  a  state,  because  a  state  of  improvement 
must  needs  be  a  state  of  imperfection.  God 
himself  is  the  only  and  absolutely  perfect.  If 
we  are  continually  advancing  nearer  to  him, 
we  may  be  satisfied,  grateful,  and  happy, 


RK>  \D8. 

or  in  heaven  ;  ami  infinitely 
••11  than  nn  earth, 
the  many  glori- 

whicli  \N  <1  our  great  change.     Bi 

we  remember  our  former  seh  must  re- 

of  tran>_ 

omi>  <  membram-e  \vill 

regr<  itlmut  j.- 

ties,  N\  ill,  toiM-ther 
<T  causes,  maintain  within  n>   a 
stant  humility,  a  •  iii<  h  will    n<>t   In 

tin.-    ami.l-t  , litest  gl« 

e  new  Jerusalem.     II,  t!  may 

ith  re^ivt   our   own    ,  ncea 

wit!,  :-ivih'^c   . 

piness,  we  may  likewise  view  with   r 

of  those  with   whom  we 

irtli  by  tin*  tir-  «>f  nature 

;l>it,  ami  yrt  be  so  enlightened  \\ith  regard 

beneficial  ends  of  that  bani>h- 

im-nt  as  not  to  experience-  tlu-ivfmm 

:  \\hich 
with 
Secondly,   it  \>e  cons; 

iom    brot 

anil    impair    I  :th.      May   it 

,  be  presumed  that  the  good  will 
take    with    t;  0    a    iutnr*-    Bi 

strong  affection,  or  any  otln  r  than  rninpa- 
•hose  whose  vices  have  estran^ 
15 


226  RECOGNITION  OF  FRIENDS. 

and  weakened,  if  not  broken,  the  bonds  of 
nature  and  of  love  ?  "  And  it  may  be,"  again 
observes  Bishop  Mant,  "  since  God's  rational 
creatures  are  dear  to  him  according  to  their 
moral  excellence,  and  since  the  blessed  in  the 
future  state  will  be  '  like  God ' ;  it  may  be  that 
their  affection  toward  those  who,  in  their  earthly 
relation,  were  naturally  the  objects  of  it,  will 
be  regulated  by  this  likeness  to  the  Divine 
nature,  and  that,  whilst  it  will  be  ratified,  con- 
firmed, and  strengthened  with  respect  to  such 
as  partake  of  their  Father's  blessing  and  are 
objects  of  his  love,  it  will  be  annihilated  with 
respect  to  those  who  are  banished  from  his 
presence,  and  pronounced  aliens  from  his  affec- 
tionate regard."  In  one  sense,  God  loves  and 
must  forever  love  all  his  creatures ;  but  the 
love  which  he  bears  toward  those  who  have 
remembered  and  kept  his  commandments  must 
be  of  a  different  character  from  that  which  he 
bears  toward  those  who  have  forgotten  and  dis- 
obeyed him.  And  so  in  a  similar  manner  will 
the  love  which  the  beatified  feel  for  those  with 
whom  they  walk  in  heaven,  as  they  have  walked 
on  earth,  be  different  from  the  love  which  they 
feel  for  those  who  wandered  from  them  on  earth 
and  meet  them  not  in  heaven.  God's  love  for 
the  latter  demands  their  punishment,  and  the 
love  of  his  servants  toward  them  will  not  ques- 
tion its  infliction.  They  will  bow  before  the 


\D8. 

i  and  Goodness.     Tli 
regard  a-  N  those  who  are  not 

the  friends  of  G<  !  in  tin-  may 

be  said  t;  teoua   in   tli.-  future  w 

will  .   th«-ir   friend^  with   them.     They 

who  m  cannot  In-  their  friends. 

And  yet  memory  will  be  faithful,  and  love 
may  plead.  to  a  considera- 

-.vhich  may  •  ,!ty  adva: 

bett«  other,  and   <>n   which,   1. 

i  on  any  <  M-ll.     '[".  1 

after,  and  will  not   in  iliat 

ions, 

and    tlin  ual    j.un- 

i-hi.  •  not  beli  iness 

or  th  ia  necessarily  and   inrvita- 

.  tl.      I  1.  at  God's  |>imi>hin 

de- 
signed to  be  corrective ;  and   that   un    ma: 

"ii  all,  they  will  have  a  correr 
ing,  and  conseqi;  1 

also  believe,  ace  ;<>  apostolic   t 

M  charity    i. 
heaven.     And  so  I  L-  may  <  \ 

ug  regards  to  those  who 
moM 

of  our  (iod.       In  what  rrrand,  in 
,  can   tl. 


228  RECOGNITION  OF  FRIENDS. 

ployed  than  in  bringing  back,  or  endeavoring 
to  bring  back,  into  the  family  of  the  redeemed 
those  erring  and  lost  ones  to  whom  nature  had 
formerly  bound  and  endeared  them  ?  May  it 
not  be  one  of  the  employments,  one  of  the 
most  glorious  employments  and  crowning  pleas- 
ures, of  those  who  have  been  saved  them- 
selves, to  be  made  instrumental  in  restoring 
others,  who  once  were  dear,  to  that  peace  of 
spirit  which  they  have  madly  destroyed,  to 
that  heaven  which  they  have  justly  forfeited? 
O  who  that  has  been  found  worthy  to  be  a 
partaker  "  of  the  inheritance  of  the  saints  in 
light  "  would  hesitate  to  forego  for  a  time,  and 
time  after  time,  the  society  and  the  joys  of  his 
blissful  abode,  that  he  might  work  upon  the 
heart  of  one  whom  he  had  numbered  among 
his  family  on  earth,  and  place  him  once  more 
in  the  same  mansion  with  himself  ?  Who 
would  not  pray  before  the  mercy-seat  to  be 
sent  on  such  a  mission  of  mercy  ?  "  Let  me 
go,"  he  might  say,  "  let  me  go  to  the  exile, 
and  persuade  him  to  return.  He  has  suffered 
long.  Long  has  he  been  wailing  in  outer 
darkness.  Remorse  must  have  visited  his 
burning  heart.  Solitude  and  anguish  must 
have  broken  down  his  perverseness.  He  was 
not  always  perverse  and  wicked.  Through 
the  long  vista  of  ages  I  can  see  him  as  he  once 
was.  He  once  was  a  happy  child,  an  innocent 


RECOGNITION   01  V/>S.  229 

cliil  »nate  and  in^'iinous,  and  pure  as 

lich    heamrd    fr<>m     his     eyes     or 

!•.       I    have    held 

him   in  .1    have  watched  his  sn 

and   diied  his   tear<.      I    h»ved   him  once.     O 

him  again !   that   I   i 

bear    to    him    thy   forgiveness!    that    I    mi^ht 
Hi  back  to  happiness,  to  heaven,  and 
to  T!  Would  not  the   Tnivrrsal    Father 

grant  the  prayer?      Can  it  be  proved  to 
that  the  saints  and  angels  are  not  and  will  not 
be  occupied  in  fulfilling  h  >ses? 

Am  that  between  the  saved  and   the 

lost    there    is    II    gl  .ed,    SO    t! 

who  would  pass  iss  cannot  do  so'/      I 

will    not  this  arguinc'iit    i>  drawn 

illustrative  part  of  a  parable 
!i   is    un-  ••)  convey  t-ither 

or  fact,  Li 

profound  separation  betwrm   tlie 
happy  and  tl 

•ure  state,  —  a  sc 

mil, 
lity, 
nessages  of  his  own  grace  and 

pdf  may  be  passed;  and  what 
can  there  be  too  nLrS  n|    ! 

p  or  broad  i-»r  tin-  passage  of  charit; 
Tlie    <•'  which    hav«-    he.-n    m>  n- 


230  RECOGNITION   OF  FRIENDS. 

to  obviate  the  difficulty  which  they  have  been 
brought  forward  to  answer.  But  if  they  were 
less  convincing,  if  the  difficulty  remained  in  its 
full  force,  yet  the  doctrine  of  future  recogni- 
tion would  not  be  disproved.  No  objection 
drawn  from  a  probable  state  of  painful  feeling 
for  the  wicked  could  overthrow  the  fact  that 
heaven  is  a  social  condition  of  being,  on  which 
fact  the  doctrine  of  the  mutual  recognition  of 
friends  in  heaven  still  would  rest  unmoved. 
This  fact  should  be  sufficient  to  content  and 
console  us.  Heaven  is  a  social  state,  a  city,  a 
kingdom,  a  church,  in  which  there  is  a  great 
assembly,  an  innumerable  company,  and  in 
which  the  innocent  and  good,  the  servants  of 
the  King  Eternal,  the  spiritual  and  true  wor- 
shippers of  the  Father,  will  meet  together,  and 
know  each  other,  and  never  be  separated  any 
more.  There  the  parent  will  see  the  child, 
improved  by  heavenly  culture,  and  listen  to 
the  voice,  now  made  more  musical,  which  in 
days  gone  by  was  the  sweetest  music  he  ever 
heard.  There  the  child  will  find  the  parent, 
and  hear  from  him  those  words  of  love  and 
wisdom  which  were  early  lost  to  him  on  earth. 
There  brother  and  sister  will  meet  again,  and 
exchange  again  that  confidence  and  sympathy 
which  passed  between  them  and  united  them 
here.  There  the  widowed  wife  will  meet  the 
husband,  and  the  husband  the  wife ;  and 


\DS. 

will  be  as  tin 
is    ii"  .    the 

th  will  not  be  for 
y  twain  will  be  one. 
irs  soon  finish  their  r  ns.     A  t 

mor<  ud  the  s< 

closed.  listens  to  restore  that   which 

vas  too  hasty  in  ling. 

Death    promptly   r. -pairs  as  well  as  destroys, 
rejoins  as  well  as  di v  Lin  1  in 

tjiiick    MUVO-  All    tin-  days  of  my  ap- 

pointed   time   will    I    wa: 
man,    ••  till    my    change    coi  last 

tot    be   long    in    coming    to 
!    the    ili  ill    I 

"till   my   change  c<>  All   the  .lays  are 

but  i'e'A.      I   will  wait  and  hope   ai,  tally 

trust,  till  they  are  goi 

but  small  which  keeps  me  from   t!  »in  I 

have  lo\  and,  in   the 

of  God  and  my  l!  it  of 

love  fon 


*  Past  a  few  fleeting  moment*  more, 
And  death  the  blessing  shall  restore, 

•h  hath  snatched  away; 
;ne  thou  wilt  the  summons  «cn<l, 
And  give  me  ba<  :id, 

In  that  eternal  <i 


232  RECOGNITION   OF  FRIENDS. 


NOTE. 

The  preceding  discourse  was  never  preached  as  one  continu- 
ous sermon.  It  contains  the  substance  of  two  sermons,  one  of 
which  was  written  and  preached  as  early  as  the  year  1819,  and 
the  other  in  the  year  1834,  and  both  of  which  have  been  here- 
tofore separately  printed  as  essays,  contributed  by  the  author 
to  different  publications. 


SERMON   X\ 


VOICES  FROM    II! 

And  they  heard   a  great  voice   from  heaven  saying  unto 
them,  Come  up  hiihcr.  — /fer.  xi.  12. 

ear  voices  fr  Bay- 

ing ,  Come   up  hither.      Did    we  not, 

how  low  and  grovelling  our  desires,  our  \  ur- 
suits,  on  res,  would   he!      Did  we 

v  road  our  pilgrimage  would 
run:    hard   to    travel,   and  yet  more   hard  to 
leave!     How  companionlati  our  soul>  would 
say,  as  kindred  souls  departed,  one 
by  one!     How  silent  and  cheerless  \v..ul,l  l,r 
it  of  our  i,   and   how  transient 

and  !;iv  !       If  tlir   sjm-ir 

not  spok  1  < -leave 

to  tiling   hrluw  ;   ami   h<>-  it   \\-Mild 

be   n  in.   'lr«M.j,in^   wh.-n    t! 

\   :   Mini    how 
hnur  of 
ii  !       I5ut    now    we    do   h 


234  VOICES  FROM  HEAVEN. 

heaven,  saying  unto  us,  Come  up  hither. 
And  our  wayfaring  hearts  are  cheered,  and 
the  book  of  our  life  is  interpreted,  and  our 
cares  are  rebuked  and  dispelled  by  those  clear 
and  noble  voices.  The  spirit  looks  up  as  it 
hears  their  sound,  the  sound,  as  it  were,  of  its 
native  language  ;  and  feeling  that  it  was  not 
born  from  the  earth  nor  for  it,  frees  itself  from 
earthly  bonds,  takes  sweet  counsel  with  house- 
hold spirits,  and  rises  to  its  native  seats. 

These  voices,  like  that  which  the  two  un- 
buried  witnesses  of  the  Apocalypse  heard,  are 
great  voices,  full  of  majesty  and  power,  so  that 
we  cannot  fail  to  hear  them,  if  we  have  ears  to 
hear. 

There  is,  in  the  first  place,  a  voice  even 
from  the  lower  and  material  heaven,  calling  on 
our  souls,  and  urging  them  to  ascend.  The 
stars  of  the  firmament,  and  the  sun  and  the 
moon,  speak  as  well  as  shine.  They  "  utter 
forth  a  glorious  voice "  ;  a  voice  which  not 
only  declares  the  glory  of  God,  but  exhorts 
the  spirit  of  man.  The  purposes  of  their  crea- 
tion, and  their  shining,  and  their  singing,  are 
doubtless  manifold  ;  but  one  purpose  is  to 
publish  to  mortals  that  there  is  something 
above  and  beyond  the  dark  little  globe  on 
which  they  live  and  die ;  yea,  that  there  are 
myriads  of  greater  and  brighter  worlds.  And 
what  is  this  but  to  tell  them  not  to  be  devoted, 


not   to  l>iml   tli«  :  'edge 

ami    w.  -    to    that    one   spot,   but 

•  lo<>k  hi_  that 

e  are  other  hahitations,  and  other  scenes, 
ion.       With    a   great 
voice,  the  stars  say  unto  «>ur  souls,  Com 
hither!       Come   iij.    into    the   va-t   domains  of 
space,  ami   count   nur   numbers,  I 

in    our   brightness, 

learn   what  we  ran   tell  you  <>f  height  and  of 
depth,  of  splendor  and  of  p  Stay  not 

always  below.     Breathe    not    always    in    : 
ami  vapors.     Regard  not  «-arth  M  exclon 
and  so  long  as  to  rest  in  the  condii-ion  that 
earth   is  all.      But   c  hither. 

our  host.     T;  'ir  e.-nij-any  : 

see  and   remeinlu-r    that    there    is 

•ilverse  above    an<l  , —  Thus 

speak  the  stars.     Their  meaning  is  not  to  be 
mistal. ••!!.      ':  !aet.    which    our 

to     U-,     tl 

are  .  -j.irit  out 

fron  :  row  confines  of  the  1»< dy  an-! 

<lu»t,   \\hich   the  body   is  and    to 

whi  return. 

iu-j'ires   it    \vitii    hopes    wliich 

kill  i 

:  I 

beat;  .        that  elevation  of 


236  VOICES  FROM  HEAVEN. 

theirs  which  is  congenial  to  spirit,  and  ad- 
dresses itself  to  spirit,  they  will  speak  to  the 
soul  that  watches  with  them,  and  invite  it 
upwards  to  themselves,  where  orb  hangs  above 
orb,  and  darkness  is  not,  and  the  small  and 
shaded  earth  may  be  for  a  time  forgotten. 
Astrology  is  not  altogether  false.  It  was  an 
old  superstition,  which  has  passed  away,  that 
the  stars  govern  our  mortal  destiny.  It  is  an 
eternal  truth,  which  passes  not  away,  that  they 
assist  in  revealing  to  us  our  immortal  destiny, 
by  calling  our  souls  up  into  the  boundless 
region  of  the  works  of  God. 

2.  We  do  not  stop,  however,  but  only  begin 
with  these  works,  all  bright  and  eloquent  as 
they  are.  They  introduce  us  to  him  who 
made  them  ;  to  him  from  whose  fountain  they 
draw  their  light,  and  of  whose  voice  their  own 
is  but  an  echo.  God  delegates  not  to  his  crea- 
tures, but  reserves  as  his  own  right,  the  highest 
converse  with  his  likeness,  the  human  soul. 
He  is  the  Father  of  spirits,  and  he  will  speak 
himself  to  his  children.  And  from  the  heaven 
where  he  dwelleth,  he  says  to  them,  Come  up 
hither.  The  hopes  which  he  has  imprinted 
within  us  so  plainly  and  durably  that  doubt 
and  fear  cannot  greatly  obscure,  nor  vice  itself 
completely  erase  them  ;  the  longings  which  we 
experience  after  a  good,  a  glory,  and  a  perma- 
nence which  we  find  not  here  ;  the  desire  and 


\    ni<>.\(  HEAVEN. 

Inch  ar<  illed 

:    '  ".  hich  Cft] 

rest  here,  hut  1  continually,  though 

often  ^ibly   upward  :    tin-    thoi, 

!i    \\ill   he  searching   into    tin-    future,  and 
turn   n«»t   !>:i<  •  gate  of  death,  hut    1 

beyond  the  grave;  tin    |,rm. 
which  ar  D  in  the  pages  of  1 

truth  :   t  ises  which   a:  :i    hy  his 

repeated  mercies  and  ' 

all   these  are  the  sacred  words  of  hi-  lips,  and 

iven    with    which    ho 

says  to  us,  Come  up  hither.     Com-  the 

•  ce   of  your  <  and 

place  of  your  own  souls.     < 
that  state  as  yon  iii<  h  I   li 

to  be  your  probation,  nor  that   ir< 

!  •  your  pi'  .1  f 

you  are  tiiv«l  in  your  journey,  look  t«. 
your  re-t.      If  the  earth    seems   a    \\iMrniess, 
transport  yourselves  in   spirit  to  the  { 
land.     If  the  pleasures  of  earth  arc  transi 
and  the  glories  of  earth  are  vain,  con 

;     substantial  <>f   the 

"bcr  I;       tin  not  so  constantly 

poral    r  as  to  forget  the 

way  to  that  abode  where  my  chihlen  arc  to 
up   hith»T  hy   tiiith   now, 
••r  you    i.  in    hy   si 

Come  up  by  h« >\ 


238  VOICES  FROM  HEAVEN. 

appear,  it  may  be  swallowed  up  in  fruition. 
Come  up  by  charity  and  good  works  done  in 
the  body,  that  when  your  bodies  are  resolved 
into  dust,  your  souls  may  be  prepared  for  that 
happy  and  holy  kingdom  into  which  sin  and 
impurity  cannot  enter.  Come  up  hither  on  the 
wings  of  prayer.  Come  up  hither  by  the  ex- 
ercises of  piety  and  the  strength  of  divine 
love.  Come,  and  see  my  face,  and  be  to  me 
as  sons. 

Let  us  listen  to  the  voice  of  our  heavenly 
Father,  speaking  to  us  from  the  heaven  to 
which  he  bids  us  rise.  Let  us  be  grateful  to 
him  for  the  paternal  solicitude  which  prompts 
him  to  call  us.  He  would  not  invite  us  if  he 
did  not  desire  our  presence.  He  would  not 
seek  our  souls  if  he  did  not  love  them.  He 
would  not  thus  consult  for  our  happiness  if 
our  happiness  were  not  dear  to  him. 

3.  But  there  is  another  to  whom  we  are 
dear,  even  his  own  Son,  who  dwells  with  his 
Father ;  and  he  also  calls  us  from  the  same 
heaven,  saying  unto  us,  Come  up  hither ! 
Here  are  the  mansions  which  I  have  been 
preparing  for  my  disciples.  It  was  to  secure 
to  you  this  blessed  rest,  that  on  earth  I  en- 
dmx'd  poverty,  reproach,  and  suffering  ;  that  I 
taught,  toiled,  and  died  ;  that  I  burst  from  the 
tomb  and  rose.  For  this  great  end  did  I  come 
to  you,  that  you  might  come  up  hither  to  me, 


VOICES  FROM   /  239 

that,  where   I   :un,   :  Jit    be   also. 

-e  not  my  labor  for  you  to  be  vain.     I 

earn  with 

into  my  inheritance,  that 

t  be  fello  ith  me,  and  >it  down 

ii.      I   would 

have  more  guests,  more  :  /tak- 

;    ere  of  my  glory.     1   would  not  lose  one  soul 

:i.     Come  up  hi 
,  and  for  all. 

id  and  audiMe  is  this  voice  of  the  Sav- 
It>   call    t<>    the   ^j.irits    of  men  is  con- 

wh«> 

will  £\\<  ti-adi    us 

of  1  to  be  the  portion  of 

•lid   he  teach  us  at  all, 
'•re  is  to  b<  I  '     He  is  tin 

•n  ?        II.-    i>     the 
[    PCSli:  '         life  ;   but  why,    ' 

ers  do  not  rise  and  live?  He  is  the  Caj 
of  our  salvation  ;  but  how,  if  his  ran- 
host  pass  not  throu  flood  al 

how  are  we   hi>   iollown 
we  foll..w  him   not  whitln-r   he  ha-  Lr'»nr  up  on 

r,  come  up  hith 
•ice  of  our  ascend*  d  and 

.  or  may 
.     know    hi>    n:u; 

grat  ,  we  come.     Saviour, 

we  e        .     \\  L  i  hast  gone,  and  \\ 


240  VOICES  FROM  HEAVEN. 

thou  art,  we  know,  and  the  way,  too,  we  know. 
O  that  we  may  have  strength  and  wisdom  to 
persevere  in  thy  footsteps,  till  we  meet  thee 
above  with  those  who  have  already  joined 
thee! 

4.  And  now  we  hear  other  great  voices 
from  heaven,  saying  unto  us,  Come  up  hither  ! 
They  are  the  voices  of  "  the  glorious  com- 
pany of  the  apostles,"  "  the  goodly  fellowship 
of  the  prophets,"  "  the  noble  army  of  martyrs," 
the  innumerable  multitude  of  saints  and  sealed 
servants  of  God,  which  no  man  can  number, 
of  all  nations  and  kindreds  and  people  and 
tongues.  Come  up  hither  !  they  cry,  and  wit- 
ness our  joys,  and  be  encouraged  by  our  suc- 
cess. Ages  roll  on,  but  our  pleasures  are 
ever  new.  Your  years  come  to  an  end,  but 
we  have  put  on  immortality.  Your  days  and 
nights  succeed  each  other,  but  there  is  no 
night  here.  Faint  not  at  your  tribulations  ; 
if  we  had  fainted,  we  had  not  conquered. 
Behold  our  crowns  and  our  palms.  Fight  the 
good  fight,  as  we  did  ;  and  then  come  up 
hither  unto  us,  and  swell  our  song  of  praise 
and  victory,  and  join  with  us  in  ascribing 
blessing  and  honor  and  glory  and  power  unto 
him  who  sitteth  upon  the  throne,  and  unto 
the  Lamb  forever  and  ever  ! 

Where  the  spirits  of  all  the  just  and  good 
and  pious  and  constant  of  all  past  times  are 


FROM  HEAVEN.  241 

assembled,  shall  not  the  ^>irit  of  every  Chris- 
tian,  <>t'  '  .   and 

e  to  go?     Shall  not  theirs  be  the  so< 
of  his  c!  Shall   not   their  abode   !»<•  the 

of  his  own  adoption  ?     Will    he  re- 
fiise  a  little  labor  for  such  a  rest?     Will  he 
ne  at  a  light  sorrow,  which  may  work  out 
iiin  such  a  weight   of  glory?      He  will 
rather  say, 

"  Tlii *  is  the  heaven  I  long  to  know; 

thi*  with  patience  I  would  wait, 
Till,  weaned  from  earth  and  all  below, 

I  mount  to  my  celestial  teat, 
And  ware  my  palm,  and  wear  my  crown, 
And,  with  the  elden,  cast  them  down.'* 

5.  There  are  few  to  whom  I  am  sj> .-akini: 
who   do   not   hear   <>  ices,   yet    \\  i 

though  not  more  animating  than  tin    h^t,  are, 
by  the  provision  of  God,  nearer  to   tli.    lis- 
ng  ear,  and  dearer  to  the  soul.     There  are 
who  do  not  number  in  their  families  those 
whose  places  are  vacant  at  the  table  and  the 
hearth,  but  who  are  not  reckoned  as  lost  but 
only  gone  before.     And  wlu-n  tin-  huMn.'ss  of 
for  a  while   suspended,    and    its 
cares  are  put  to  rest,  —  nay,  oi't«-n  in  tin-  midst 
of  the  world's  unheeded  tumult,  —  th«  ir  voices 
float  <!<>  y  and  distinctly  from  h«  a\ .  n, 

and  say  to  t!  up  hither!     Our 

.nities  are    r-  :   our   strength    is  re- 

ed ;  our  fears  and  doubts  are  ilown  a\ 
16 


242  VOICES  FROM  HEAVEN. 

our  sins  are  forgiven.  We  hunger  and  thirst 
no  more.  We  are  disquieted  no  more.  Let 
not  your  spirits  walk  on  in  darkness  ;  our 
darkness  is  all  dispersed.  Weep  not  for  us  ; 
our  tears  are  all  wiped  away.  Forget  not  the 
duties  which  remain  for  you  on  earth  ;  but 
neither  forget  us,  who  wait  for  you  here. 
Hearken  to  us,  and  be  comforted !  Come  to 
us  when  your  journey  is  done  ! 

The  voices  of  the  stars,  and  of  their  Maker, 
—  of  our  Saviour,  Christ,  —  of  his  glorified 
saints,  —  of  our  departed  friends,  —  how  great 
and  inspiring  they  are  !  Can  we  follow  harsh 
and  vulgar  voices  when  such  as  these  are 
calling  to  us  ?  Shall  the  lower  world  claim 
all  our  conversation  when  we  may  thus  com- 
mune with  the  inhabitants,  and  with  the  God 
of  heaven  ? 

By  all  that  is  good,  and  pure,  and  holy, 
and  rational,  by  the  power  of  virtue  and 
grace  and  love,  and  by  a  sound  mind,  let  us 
be  persuaded  to  listen  most  attentively,  most 
earnestly,  to  those  voices  which  best  deserve 
the  audience  of  the  undying  soul.  They  are 
always  speaking ;  it  is  ours  but  to  hear.  Let 
our  journeying  spirits,  as  they  travel  onward 
through  the  various  passages  of  mortal  life,  in 
its  rough  places  or  smooth,  prize  every  sound 
which  is  borne  to  them  from  the  mansions  of 
their  only  rest. 

JANUARY  1, 1832. 


SERMON    XXI. 


THE   GOOD   REVEALED. 

There  be  many  who  »ay,  Who  will  show  as  any  good  ?  Lord, 
lift  thoa  up  the  light  of  thy  countenance  upon  us.  —  P*.  iv.  6. 

HE  be  many  who  say,  Who  will  show 
us  any  goo<:  e  number  of  those  who 

;>lain  of  their  condition  an-1  <»t  human  life, 
as  of  a  bare  waste,  destitute  of  solid  good  and 

•incss,  was  large  in  the  days  of  the  Psalm- 
ist, and  is  so  still.  Tin-  complaint  is  a  serious 
one.  On  what  is  it  ^roun.lr.r/  A 

causes  for  its  so  often  repeated  utterance  ? 

re  must  be  cause?,  powerful  and  permanent 
causes,  for  a  murmuring  lament  which  has  come 
down  to  us  with  the  sounds  of  remote  antiquity, 
and  is  heard  even  now  ami«l  the  sounds  with 
which  the  world  is  full.  'I  li  r-  mu-t  l>e  causes 
for  this  ;  hut  an-  th.-y  justifying  causes? 

In  order  to  ascertain  t:  nust  obsn 

W}IM  ,ru    who   brin^    the    heavy    charge 

against  ,  —  what  nia  r.sona 


244  THE  GOOD  REVEALED. 

those  are  who  say,  Who  will  show  us  any 
good  ?  Let  us  see  what  their  principles  are, 
and  what  is  the  main  course  of  their  conduct, 
and  then  we  may  be  able  to  form  a  judgment 
of  the  causes  of  their  complaint. 

We  shall  be  struck  with  the  fact,  in  the  com- 
mencement of  our  survey,  that  they  who  com- 
plain of  the  sad  vacuity  of  life  belong  to  very 
different  and  indeed  opposite  classes  as  respects 
principles  and  conduct.     One  class  is  that  of 
the  religious ;   the  other,  that  of  the  indiffer- 
ent and  irreligious:  the   one  full  of  religious 
conviction  and  sentiment,  the  other  destitute 
of  them.     It   is   somewhat   strange   that  two 
descriptions  of  persons,  taking  essentially  dif- 
ferent views  of  the  ends  of  life,  should  thus 
unite  in  an  accusation  against  it.     It  is  espe- 
cially   strange    that    they   of    the    first-named 
class,  who  believe  that  life  is  ordained  and  the 
world  is  governed  by  a  beneficent  Deity,  should 
yet  maintain  that  life  and  the  world  contain  no 
good  to  manifest  that  beneficence.     It  is  espe- 
cially strange  —  is  it  not  ?  —  that  they  who  do 
not  need  to  have  the  existence  of  a  merciful 
Father  and  a  merciful  Providence  proved  to 
them,  who  do  not  say,  Who  wrill  show  us  a 
good,  wise,  and  careful   Creator?   should  yet 
say,  Who  will  show  us  any  good  ?     And  yet 
they  do  say  so  ;  and  they  not  only  say  it,  but 
they  think  it  religious  to  say  it;    they  deem 


TIIK  GOOD  Rl  245 

nor  to  their  Maker  when 
say  it. 

In  tliis  last  circumstance,  however,  we  have 

a  hint  of  the  causes  of  thrir  complaint.      Why 

:h--y  >u|»pose  it  a  part  of  religion  to  c.  m- 

•IK  MIIV- 

ly,  tlian   U'eaiiH-   tl.,  y  express  thereby  a  faith 

more  satisfying. 

lint,  thru,  i<  only  an  exaggeration 
of  religious  sentiment  ;  the  truth  of  t: 

•hing  human,  and  the  tranMt<>iiness  of 
.ly,   carried    into   excess,  and 
turned   into  error  —  error,  which,  hut  foi 
in,    wuul  ,  .      Can    we    not    say 

i"!i    intrudes    into  all   that   is   human, 
leath  often  interrupts  awl  soon  \\ill  termi- 
nate all  the  enjoyment  of  earth,  an<l  the 
cannot  be  full  ith  what  -ral, 

—  can  we  not  say  this  without  saying.  Who 
will  show  us  any  good?  Can  we  not  say,  that 
all  which  is  merely  worldly  is  vain  ;  that  the 

•rid  is  a  life  \ 

that    a    soul    immersed    in    worldly   pursuit    and 

pleasure  is  a  soul  drowned  ;  that  sin   has  filled 

the  world  with  sorrow,  and  that  there  is  m> 

rest  and  no  unl.i-(.krn  m  in  beaven, — 

not    utter    these   trut!  solemn 

and    moi:  |  ithout    -poilini:    tlieir 

truth    and    th  '.<n\    l»y   say  inn,    Who    \\ill 

v  us  any  good?     This  wai  limina- 


246  THE  GOOD  REVEALED. 

tion  between  what  is  frail  and  what  is  worth- 
less ;  between  what  is  of  the  earth,  earthy,  and 
what  is  on  the  earth  but  comes  from  heaven  ; 
between  the  good  which  is  perverted  and  the 
perversion  of  that  good,  —  is  the  cause  why 
religious  persons  are  found  among  those  who 
disparage  the  whole  scene  of  mortal  life  in  all 
its  aspects.  They  do  not,  in  principle,  disagree 
with  those  who  look  on  life  more  cheerfully, 
and  speak  of  it  more  thankfully  ;  and  therefore 
they  should  be  exhorted,  in  the  spirit  of  broth- 
erly love,  to  consider  that  it  is  far  from  neces- 
sary to  deny  all  good  to  the  present  life,  in 
order  to  express  their  conviction  that  there  is 
another  which  is  better ;  or  to  maintain  all  ere-, 
ated  things  to  be  evil,  in  order  to  enforce  the 
truth  that  the  Creator  is  the  only  good.  They 
should  be  exhorted,  moreover,  to  ponder  the 
question,  whether  they  are  not  injuring  relig- 
ion by  appearing  to  join  with  the  irreligious 
in  their  estimate  of  the  human  condition  ;  and 
by  inducing  some  to  think  that  there  is  a  nat- 
ural affinity  and  union  between  religious  views 
and  gloomy  views  ;  and  by  leading  others  to 
ask  in  fearful  doubt  or  despondency,  whether 
God  did  really  intend  to  place  man  in  a  world 
from  which  all  good  was  excluded.  Let  them 
hold  earth  as  cheap  as  they  please,  in  compar- 
ison with  heaven,  —  every  pious  spirit  will 
sympathize  with  them  in  this,  —  but  do  not 


T11K  r.ooit  &EVBAL1  lM7 

let  them  speak  as  if  earth  were  unvisited  by 
the    goodaeil   <>f  (tod,  —  as   if  the   footstool 

ht  no  rays  from   tin*  throne. 
Bttt    though   the  religious,  from   an  error  in 

nefl  speak  too 

and    inournfully  of  human  life, 
they  apt  to  speak  so  bitterly  of  it  as 

do    th"   indifferent  at  .      Oh,    that 

:iat   scoffing,  blist  icssl 

how  much  worse  is  it  than  only  meanings  and 
tears,  however  mistaken  noanings  and 

tears  ma  know  a  state  of  mind 

from  which  we  should  more  anxiously  pm 
be  forever  saved,  than  that  which,  scorning  all 
that  awakens  other  minds  to  gratitude  or  en- 
kindles them   into  adoration,  drlihcrately 
Who    will    show   us    any  good  ?      It    either 

;ces  a  coldness  and  hardness  which  r, 
VOrs  ;  ct,  or  a  satiety  which   has   lo-t  all 

h  t  >r  calm  and  virtuous  pleasures.     What 
can  induce  such  a  state  of  mind  ' 

Can  it  !».•  that  lit'*'  lias  P-ally  hem  to  these 
complainers  a  lot  of  unmitigated  ill  ?  Has  a 
•  than  u-nal  share  of  int-\  ital»l«'  misery 
been  the  portion  of  t)i<-ir  cup  7  It  does  not 
seem  to  be  so.  Tli«-y  have  not  sufl'-n-d  more 
than  ">':  who  do  not  complain  at  all, 

and  a nk fnl  for  a 

grcir  ,  id.     I  lav  they  IHM-M  so 

that    tlx'y  have    witm-ssrd  no  good   in 


248  THE  GOOD  REVEALED. 

others,  no  kindness,  no  self-denial,  no  self-sacri- 
fice ?  This  can  hardly  be.  They  have  been 
in  precisely  the  same  situations  in  which  others 
have  stood  who  have  beheld  unnumbered  in- 
stances of  this  description  of  good,  and  with  a 
swell  of  the  heart  and  a  starting  tear  have 
blessed  them.  What  is  the  reason,  then,  that 
these  complainers  can  see  no  good  in  life,  and 
request  that  it  may  be  shown  to  them,  as 
something  which  has  not  yet  been  discovered  ? 
Is  it  an  irreligious  forgetfulness  of  all  benefits 
received,  and  of  all  graces  and  virtues  wit- 
nessed ?  Tell  me,  complainer,  hast  thou  never 
seen  a  bright  day,  nor  felt  a  light  heart? 
Hast  thou  never  tasted  food  that  was  pleas- 
ant, or  sleep  that  was  refreshing  ?  Hast  thou 
never  been  the  object  of  a  father's  care,  or 
a  mother's  love,  or  a  labor  of  kindness,  or  a 
word  of  encouragement  ?  Has  no  one  ever 
watched  over  thee,  or  worked  for  thee,  or 
prayed  for  thee,  or  defended  thee  ?  Hast  thou 
never  seen  one  tear  of  pity  or  of  thankfulness? 
Hast  thou  never  seen  a  parent  suffer  that  a 
child  might  be  saved  from  suffering,  or  a  man 
rescuing  his  fellow-man  from  want  or  from 
sin  ?  I  will  not  believe  that  thou  hast  not 
experienced  and  seen  these  things.  Thou 
hast  experienced,  thou  hast  seen,  and  thou  hast 
forgotten  them,  ungratefully  forgotten  them. 
Where  is  thy  memory  ?  where  is  thy  justice  ? 
where  is  thy  heart  ? 


THE  GOOD  249 

>  is  not  this  discontent    the 

fruit  of  an    innnli-  in   '      N    it    not 

some  it  :i  man  will  allow  noth- 

ing  to  be  good  be  B  thinks  that  nothing 

is  good  e  :'>r  Midi   an   one  as  him- 

there  not  those  who  are  constantly  v« 

it  that  they  always  deserve  more 
than    tli  obtain,  and  that  all  benefits 

and  blessings  are   hut  half-payments  t 
own  I Io\\    much  good  would  be  re- 

vealed, how  much  happiness  would  be  secured 
to  them,  l.y  the  aid  of  a  little  humility  —  that 

.  -oothin^  virtue  of  huinil; 
t  the  largest  and  sorest  class  of  in 
complainers  are  those  who,  by  a  course  of  un- 
righteous excess,  ;  fcbemielvefl  into 
that    most  desolate   region  of  satiet\. 
everything   is  faded   and   tasteless,  nothin 
beautiful,  nothing  is  good.      They  have 

say,  and  have  found  it  disappointing 
valueless;  they  have  tried   men,  and 
found   them  deceitful  and  selfish.      Tried 

ikind  !      And    ho\v    have    they    tried 
•y  have  abused  good,  and  (hanged 
id    turned    it    into   evil,   and    then 
comj  not  good.     They 

happine^    \\her 
nd  (iod    f.-rhad.-    them  t«» 
d    that    ther- 
hroken    the   laws  of 


250  THE  GOOD  REVEALED. 

enjoyment,  and  then  complained  of  the  conse- 
quences of  broken  laws.  They  have  dulled 
and  deadened  their  physical  and  moral  sensi- 
bility to  rational  and  pure  enjoyment,  and  then 
complained  that  there  was  nothing  to  enjoy. 
By  acting  continually  on  the  selfish  plan  them- 
selves, they  have,  as  it  were,  compelled  men 
to  be  selfish  in  self-defence,  and  then  com- 
plained of  their  own  work.  They  have  fright- 
ened purity  away  from  them  by  their  impurity, 
and  holiness  by  their  taunts,  and  tenderness 
and  devotion  by  their  coldness,  and  then  com- 
plained that  they  were  lonely.  They  pervert, 
they  reject,  they  banish  the  best  blessings  of 
life,  and  then  they  ask,  Who  will  show  us  any 
good  ? 

I  have  intimated  what  are  some  of  the  chief 
causes  of  the  charge  which  is  not  uncommonly 
preferred  against  our  human  condition.  It 
may  be  added  that  the  complaint  is  some- 
times of  a  temporary  character  only,  —  the 
sudden  cry  of  a  struck  and  wounded  heart, 
—  the  voice  of  grief  as  it  sits  in  darkness, 
and  is  unable  for  a  time  to  discover  any  good 
through  the  veil  by  which  it  is  shrouded.  Of 
this  we  need  only  say,  that  it  is  the  mistake 
of  burdened  and  bewildered  feeling,  which 
will  presently  be  rectified  by  that  feeling  it- 
self. 

But  what  answer  shall  be  given  to  the  com- 


THE  t;ann  /,v  r/.i/ 1  L>;,1 

plaining   (jue<tion,    from    whatever   quarter    or 

it   mav  pn  It  is  observable  tliat 

the    Psalmist   gives    no   direct    an  the 

wh..  say,  \Vln>  will  show  us  any  good? 

His  implied  is  a  prayer;  "Lord,  lift 

tin 'ii   up  the    light  of  thy  countenance  upon 

I.ut  the  answer  implied  in  this  5n\ 
tion  is  full  and  complete  <  >nly  let  the  1 
of  th  !-•  rd'l  countenance  be  lifted  up  upon 
us,  only  let  us  see  God  in  all  things,  and  all 
tlmiLr-  in  God,  and  then  we  shall  never  be 
•ted  to  say,  Who  will  show  us  any  good? 
will  he  full  of  good;  blessings  will  ej 
out  from  the  recesses  and  by-paths  of  our  con- 
vhirh  In-fore  lay  hi(l(l«'U  in  -hadow  ; 
and  our  cont«utm« nt,  submission,  and  cheer- 
TuliH  ss  will  be  the  practical  answer  to  those 
who  may  persist  in  saying  \Vlm  will  >h<>w 
us  any  good?  Tin*  j»rayer  is  not,  L«»i-d,  >how 
us,  or  give  us  good,  but,  lift  thou  up  the  li-ht 
of  thy  countenance  upon  us.  The  good  al- 
ready given,  already  existing,  will  then  show 
itself,  will  glow  all  around  n-  under  that  co- 
pinu-  and  hai  _dit,  and  our  countenances 

will    reflect  the  beams   which   shine   from   the 
coun 

Come,  ye  doubtful  and  ve  di  ho- 

r  ye  are,  come  and   look   upon   the 

•ad    out    in    the  liidlt  of  a  J 
v.      (n,d  i>  tbcM,  and    in  his  light  you 


252  THE  GOOD  REVEALED. 

will  see  light.  Look  upon  the  human  condi- 
tion as  a  condition  which  he  has  ordained  ; 
look  upon  human  trials  as  trials  wlych  he 
has  appointed  ;  look  on  human  affections  as 
implanted  by  him  and  struggling  after  him  ; 
on  human  sorrows  as  sent  by  him  that  they 
may  lead  weak  and  wandering  souls  forward 
and  up  to  him  ;  and  on  this  world  of  human 
creatures,  with  all  their  joys  and  griefs,  pur- 
suits and  interests,  as  passing  away  indeed,  but 
passing  away  under  his  eye,  that  it  may  pass 
into  a  state  more  exalted  and  enduring;  —  look 
thus,  I  say,  upon  life  and  the  world,  and  you 
will  not  ask,  Who  will  show  us  any  good  ? 
but  you  will  exclaim,  It  is  all  good  ! 

I  will  not  ask  you  to  fix  your  attention 
upon  that  which  bears  the  common  name  of 
good.  I  will  not  ask  you  to  look  upon  the 
fresh  delight  of  childhood  ;  on  the  open  face 
of  honesty ;  on  the  unwearied  exertions  and 
sacrifices  of  love  ;  on  the  right  hand  of  dis- 
pensing benevolence,  the  deeds  of  which  its 
left  hand  is  not  permitted  to  know  ;  on  the 
patriot's  devotedness,  on  the  martyr's  con- 
stancy :  but  I  will  ask  you  to  contemplate 
things  which  are  not  so  commonly  called 
good.-  Look  with  me  on  the  lo\v  places  of 
poverty,  —  if  those  low  places  have  the  light 
of  God's  countenance  upon  them,  —  and  you 
will  see  industry  bringing  health  and  content- 


THE  GOOD  REVEAL!  253 


•nial  edo  he  Boali  and 

tti<»ns  borne  with  \hifh  assures 

the  mind  at  once  <>f  IN  «.\\  \\  strength,  ami  of  a 

strength  greater  than  its  own.     You  will  see 

mo  iv  thankfulness  expressed  for  a  little  than 

you  will  often  see  elsewhere  rendered  for  an 

and  more  aid    imparted   from 

in    you  will    often  see  elsewhere 

doled  out  from  hoards.      And  you  will  call 

good.       Look    again    with    m<     mt  >    the 

chamber  of  sickness.      Pain   i>   th«  K  ,  hut  in 

livine  light  you  behold  it  engaged  in  a 

holy  and  blessed  ministry,  subduing  and  soft- 

ening the  spirit,  and  clearing  away  the  films 

it's  eyes.     The  body  is  emaciated, 

d.       The    cnrpoiral    ; 

era   and    functions   are  disorganized.    hut    the 

mental  powers  are  in  orderly  and   harmonious 

action,   or   resting   quietly  upon   God.      And 

i>  and  love  are  there,  with  more  touch- 

ing loveliness  than  they  ever  wore  in  gayer 

scenes;    watching   ni.ulit    after    ni-ht,   ami   yet 

:ig  no  want  of  sleep  ;  pouring  01 

un\alm-d  water,  which  yet  could  not 
be  bought  with  g«.l  d  ;  hanging  as  if  with  tin-M- 
own very  variation  of  symptom 

and  pulse  in  the  beloved,  and  yet  n-i-nin^ 
th<  ut  to  supreme  wisdom.  These  things 
are  there,  and  you  must  say  tl  are 

good. 


254  THE   GOOD  REVEALED. 

Come,  then,  now,  for  now  you  are  prepared, 
into  the  abode  of  death.  Why  is  it  not  dark 
with  unbroken  darkness  ?  Because  the  light 
of  God's  countenance  is  there,  dispersing  the 
darkness.  Death  is  there ;  but  in  the  light  of 
the  living  God,  what  is  death  ?  The  end  of 
toil,  the  completion  of  the  appointed  task,  the 
winning  of  the  race,  the  rest  after  the  battle, 
the  passage  into  eternal  life.  Death  is  there, 
but  so  is  the  victory  in  which  it  is  swallowed 
up.  There  is  rest  on  that  pale  countenance; 
and  a  smile  is  there  which  the  victorious  spirit 
left  upon  the  lips  as  it  ascended  to  its  Father 
and  its  God.  You  may  say  what  you  will  of 
the  joys  of  life  ;  you  may  set  upon  them  an 
estimate  too  low  or  too  high ;  but  if  you  have 
any  feeling  of  those  direct  revelations  of  peace 
and  triumph  and  eternal  repose  which  are  un- 
folded by  the  departure  of  the  righteous,  you 
will  acknowledge  that  the  greatest  good  has 
been  shown  to  you  in  the  chamber  of  death. 

Poverty  —  sickness  —  death:  these  are  gen- 
erally enumerated  as  among  the  chiefest  of 
evils.  I  have  not  undertaken  to  say  that  they 
are  not  evils,  or  that  under  certain  circum- 
stances they  may  not  be  dreadful  evils  ;  but 
in  answer  to  the  question,  Who  will  show 
us  any  good  ?  I  have  undertaken  to  demon- 
strate that  good  was  to  be  found  in  all  their 
several  abodes.  If  in  connection  with  pov- 


THE   GOOD  ID. 

-.   and    death    there  is  a  spirit  of 
holiness,  a  pious  and  Christian   spirit,   which 
up  of  the  countenance  of  God, 
then  U  there  a  true  and  sublime  good  proceed- 
ing froiu    them,   which    cannot   elsewhere   be 

assed.     And  if  good,  abundance  of  good, 
is  to  1  in  these  unpromising  quar- 

ters, why  imt  in  other  portions  of  man's  con- 
Is  ;  but  many  things 

are  <  and  dreaded  as  such,  which 

a  human  spiri  to  be  ashamed  so  to  call 

and  dread;  and  many  things  which  are  really 

aiv    invested    with    their   evil    chara 
by   ourselves.     I  ance  ;  licentiousness ; 

man's  stony  want  of  feeling   i'«-r   his   l.rother- 
man  ;  in^  appointment  and  mis- 

ery which  a  child  may  cause  to  a  parent,  a 

and  to  a  wife,  a  wife  to  a  hn>han«l  :   t 
are  evils  which   cannot  be   diminished,    and 
need  not  be  magnified  by  any  art  of  words. 

re  is  no  good  in  them.      Bat  why  '.' 
cause  where  they  are  lit  of  God's  coun- 

tenance is  banished  by  transgression,  and  the 
darkness   in   which   t  may  be   felt.      I 

cannot  engage  to  find  good  in  these.  Nor 
will  I  engage  to  find  good  where  multitudes 
ru-di  for  it,  —  in  the  abodes  of  re v<lr\,  in  the 
haunts  of  exceu  and  guilty  pleasure.  I  do 
nd  good  in  any  place  wi 


256  THE  GOOD  REVEALED. 

the  light  of  God's  countenance  is  not,  and 
where  God's  word  declares,  as  well  as  man's 
experience,  that  good  cannot  be.  But  wher- 
ever that  light  can  shine,  within  the  round  of 
human  suffering  as  well  as  of  human  enjoy- 
ment, there  is  good.  And  if  we  would  find 
good,  if  we  are  honestly  and  earnestly  seeking 
it,  there  is  one  simple  rule  to  guide  us  to  the 
object  of  our  searchings.  We  must  look  for 
the  pure  shinings  of  that  light ;  and  instead 
of  idly  and  querulously  asking,  Who  will  show 
us  any  good  ?  we  must  humbly  ask  that  the 
light  may  be  lifted  up  upon  us,  and  then  all 
will  be  enlightened,  and  all  will  be  good. 

JUNE  21,  1835. 


SERMON    XXII. 

WALKING   BY   FAITH 
For  we  walk  by  faith,  not  by  sight.  —  3  Cor.  y.  7. 


IN  respects,  all  men,  whose 

facul  11  a  sane  condition,  walk  1>\  tin'th  ; 

spects,  all  men,  whose  bodily 
eyes  are  open  an*!  uninjured,  walk  by  sight. 
No  man  is  such  a  universal  M-rj.nV,  such  a 
aeO8e-boii  n<  I  intidrl,  that  IK-  dors  not  believe 
many  things  which  he  does  not  and  cannot 
see;  nor  is  any  man  so  complete  a  theorist,  so 
wild  :i  ^t,  that  he  does  not  regulate 

its,  tor  the  most  part,  by 
his  eyesight. 

Many  a  person  thinks  he  believes  nothing 

has  no  faith,  when  in  believes  a  great 

deal.  i  not  so  much  as  he  ought.     He 

•    there   is    a    thinking    ]>rin<-i|»lu 

within    i  :iiinkin^    prinriplr    hr 

toadied,  tasfc  d,  li«-ai-«l.     He 
rrei  in  the  existence  of  past  ages,  and  <>i 

17 


258  WALKING  BY  FAITH. 

multitudes  of  beings  who  lived  in  them  ;  but 
these  he  never  saw.  He  believes  that  millions 
of  men  now  occupy  the  earth,  whom  he  can- 
not see.  He  believes  that  other  millions  will 
occupy  it  when  he  is  dead,  and  can  see  no 
more.  So  far  from  not  possessing  the  eyes  of 
faith,  or  making  no  use  of  them,  he  looks 
round  the  great  globe  with  them,  and  searches 
into  the  mighty  past,  and  gazes  upon  the  un- 
known future. 

The  geologist  walks  by  faith.  It  is  faith 
and  not  sight  on  which  he  rears  his  knowledge 
and  fame.  He  finds,  imbedded  in  rock,  cer- 
tain portions  of  rocky  substance,  in  the  form 
of  large  bones.  Rocks  in  the  shape  of  bones : 
this  is  all  that  they  are  to  his  bodily  eyes  ; 
and  what  they  are  to  his  eyes,  they  are  to  the 
eyes  of  the  simplest  and  most  unlettered  be- 
holder. Here  is  the  whole  story,  from  begin- 
ning to  end,  which  they  tell  to  sight.  But 
faith  guides  the  geologist  back  to  the  time 
when  these  stones  in  bony  form  were  bones 
indeed,  and  clothed  with  sinews,  flesh,  and 
skin  ;  and,  as  they  are  too  large  to  have  be- 
longed to  any  animals  such  as  we  see,  faith 
gives  them  to  animals  such  as  we  do  not  see, 
and  exhibits  to  his  wondering  mind  gigantic 
creatures  wandering  and  wading  through  the 
tall  reeds  of  a  miry  and  dimly  lighted  world, 
long  ages  on  ages  before  that  modern  being, 


WALKING  B7  FAIT  11.  2 59 

man,  had,  or  could  have   had,  his  dwelling  in 

P6  pictured  to  his  im- 
agination ;  and  he  can  say  what  animals  now 
>t  resemble  ;  and  he  can  iol- 
i  through   tl,  I   pastures  till 

a  great    ruin   overwhelms   tin  in,  and   their 
gani  are  consolidated  among 

rocks  of  a  world  which   i-   in  earnest  prepara- 

1-eyed  race,  —  a  race 

which   will   walk  by  faith,  and  not,  as  those 
dull    and  monstrous   brutes  have   walked,   by 

The  a-'  walks  1'V  faith.     The  stars 

•li  present  themselves  to  his  sight  are 
terini:  i  'I  s«»  they  are  t<>  s  of 

all.      And  even   when    he  u  telescope, 

thoi,  niultij.lii-d.  tlu-y  aiv    n,,t   inag- 

11  remain  glittering  points.     Faith, 
with  .  .-_Lrard    the   diMance,   and 

Bt    which    can    endu;< 

leads   him  out  among  them,  and   h<     I, .-holds 
them,  no  longer  j.«,iut-,  hut 

in^  multitude  of  ma;_  suns,  giving 

to  a  yet  greater   multitude  o\'  revolving 

worlds.      As  such  he  speaks  of  them,  confi- 

ii«-  had  so  seen  them;  and  \<t, 

hody,  he  sees  no  more  of 

them  than  the  peasant  see>,  or  the  child. 

Ti.  .     commiti 

himself  and  his  vessel  and  hi 


260  WALKING  BY  FAITH. 

heaving  surface  of  an  ocean  which  is  without 
a  track,  and  trusting  to  the  faithfulness  of  a 
balanced  needle,  seeks  a  country  which  he  has 
never  seen,  to  deal  with  people  of  whose  exist- 
ence his  eyes  have  never  certified  him.  All 
that  weary  way,  through  clear  and  stormy 
weather,  by  night  and  by  day,  over  the  un- 
sounded and  mysterious  deep,  among  all  its 
wonders  and  dangers,  by  faith  in  his  needle, 
by  faith  in  sun,  moon,  and  stars,  by  faith  in 
the  invisible  winds,  by  faith  in  what  men  have 
told  him,  he  pursues  his  voyage,  and  arrives  at 
the  unknown  shore. 

If  these  and  many  others,  indeed  all  others, 
walk,  in  certain  respects,  by  faith,  why  should 
not  Saint  Paul  and  his  fellow-believers,  in  his 
own  and  in  all  times,  walk  in  other  respects 
by  faith  ?  What  is  there  unreasonable,  out  of 
the  common  course,  contrary  to  analogy,  in  a 
Christian's  walking  by  faith  ?  In  the  ordinary 
concerns  of  life,  in  his  every-day  transactions, 
in  going  from  house  to  house,  in  all  those  cases 
in  which  his  eyes  were  given  him  for  guidance, 
he  walks,  as  others  do,  by  sight.  Why,  then, 
should  it  be  accounted  strange,  that,  in  paths 
where  eyes  are  of  no  use,  paths  which  tran- 
scend visible  limits,  and  stretch  off  beyond 
familiar  scenes  and  the  world  of  sense,  he 
should  walk  by  faith  ?  Are  not  others  con- 
stantly doing  the  same,  —  walking,  though  not 


WALKING   BY  FA  IT  If.  2G1 

ips    in    his   trick,  yet  in   track<   of  their 

•  iltli,  and  iK-t  l,y  sight?     May  he  not 

walk    hy    faith,    a-    \\rll    as  the  geolo«;Ut,   the 

th€   marr 

Ah  !    hut    it   will    he   said,  tlic  faith   of    the 
geol«  astronomer,  the  mariner,    s  faith 

,  on  deduction,  mi  ' 

11  ;    ami    is   not   the    faith    of   the 

t< -uncled  on  evidence,  on  deduction, 

on  t  '      I    know  not  of  any  weaker 

grounds  on  which  true  faith  is  I'mm. !.•<!.     And 

uce  is  of  the  strongest,  tl 
is  of  the  clearest,  tin-  trxtlmnny  i- 
able.     Does  the  geologist,  from  tin-  rumina- 
tion of  organ  M,  «1« -dm •••  the  fact  of  an 
anci-                   of  the  world,  funiMicd   with  its 
peculiar    inhabitants  ?       If  he   be  a   Chi  i-tian 
also,    he    deduces,    from    every   or^ani/ati-m 
which  h«*  hi-hold-.  ni«.!r    imj»nrtant 
of  tl              uce  of  a  wise  and  IU]  'diiul, 

d  above  all  other  hcin^s, 

scrih-  1  tlnir  substance  and  stnn -tnrc,  and 
pronounced  the  laws  of  tln-ir  litr.  D-.rs  the 
astronomer,  from  the  an  <>f  our  own 

solar  system,  inter  that  twinkling  stars  are 
glov  Hi,  and  that  thr  intrrxmi 

is  di\id--d  l.y  thr  circles  of  dependent  globes 
which  ru-di  and  mil  anmnd  t'n  i  d  lumi- 

:  (   hristian  also,  he   JMI: 

a  far  higher  int'r;  nl    Love 


262  WALKING  BY  FAITH. 

presiding  over  its  own  creations,  and  an  Eter- 
nal   Providence,   which  acknowledges    no  re- 
moteness,  watching   everywhere  ;    and   there- 
fore, as  he  follows  faith  from  world  to  world, 
he  not  only  wonders,  but  adores.      Does  the 
mariner   trust    to    the    evidence  of  voices    or 
books,  when  he  launches  forth  to  seek  men 
and  countries  which  he  has  never  seen  ?     If 
he  be  a   Christian   also,  he  trusts  ;  and   why- 
should  he  not  trust  to  the  evidence  of  faithful 
men  for  information  which  much  more  deeply 
concerns    him,  —  for   information    concerning 
One  who  came  into  the  world  that  the  world 
might  be  redeemed  from  sin,  and  that  sinners 
might  be  restored  to  holiness  ;    of  One  who 
died  that  our  evil  passions  might  be  nailed  to 
his  cross ;    of  One  who  rose  from  the  dead, 
and   entered  into  glory,   that   we  might   rise 
from  sloth  and  worldliness  and  spiritual  death, 
and  seek  a  country  above,  where  the  leaves  do 
not  wither,  and  the  fruits  do  not  fall ;  where 
joys  are  pure  and  lasting,  and  sin  and  death 
cannot  come?     On  this  information  the  Chris- 
tian relies,  to  this  evidence  he  yields  his  trust ; 
and,  spreading  his  sails  and  seizing  his  helm, 
he    seeks,    over    the    troublous    waves,    and 
through  the  changing  skies  of  life  and  time, 
that    blessed  land  of  truth   and  peace   which 
lies  beyond  them. 

And  why  should  he  not  ?     Why  should  he 


WALKING  BY  t-' A  IT/1.  263 

not  ground  his  faith  on  the  evidence  of  those 

u  speak  more  honestly? 

Has  iry    and    tni-tworthine>s    . 

been  i  '     \\  ••      :    •  •       :  live,  without 

•ach,  and  conformed  to  the  facts  of  \vhii-h 

-sea ;  and  were  not  t 

souls  filled  with  love  and  benevolence  such  as 
coul  fashioned  after  but  one  in« 

and  >t  consistent  and  steadfa 

•:mony,  and  di-1   tluy  not  seal  it  with 
tlu-ir   l.lood,  looking   to  a    ivnniun   with    : 
risen  Lord  in  the  heavens?     What  is  the  mat- 

•iiat    it  should    not  be 
^earch  the  \vorl«l  ovn  .  >  bet- 

tar    •  •   will   be    found.      And   wlu-n   the 

ends  of  t  the  great 

ends  .n   and   immortal  col- 

•  •cords   of  human    lii-t.»ry   cnntain    not 
any  i  any  subject  which  can  for  a 

nvd  with    it. 

Yi  uce  the  Christian   has   on 

whi-  have 

aces, 

for  t  M  and  worldN  t<.r  tln-ir  di-1 

;\'_:>^.      1 1--  In-  tl.  :  his 

best  and  highest  affections.    The  gcol<> 
ask  of  his  heart  some  kn-.v.  nn- 

•   strange  and  an  Mi  into  whidi   In* 

.  an  1    it  will    an-w.-r   him 

:       .    a>k  hi-  ruing 


264  WALKING  BY  FAITH. 

that  marshalled  host  of  shining  spheres,  and 
his  heart  will  not  add  a  feather's  weight  of  tes- 
timony to  that  which  he  has  already  received. 
The  mariner  may  inquire  of  his  heart  for  tid- 
ings of  the  land  to  which  he  is  going,  and  his 
heart  will  keep  silence,  for  it  can  tell  him  noth- 
ing. But  let  the  heart  be  questioned  in  sim- 
ple earnestness  concerning  the  Son  of  Man  as 
he  is  described  by  the  evangelists,  and  it  will 
answer  promptly  that  the  description  is  true, 
and  the  person  real ;  for  no  art  or  fancy  could 
have  pictured  a  character  like  his.  Let  the 
heart  be  asked  whether  he  who  was  crucified 
rose  again,  and  is  the  resurrection  and  the  life, 
and  it  will  reply  that  it  sees  his  glory,  and  waits 
his  judgment;  that  such  a  being  could  not  have 
been  detained  in  the  cold  arms  of  death,  but 
has  surely  risen  from  the  grave,  and  is  set  down 
on  his  throne.  Let  the  heart  be  asked  whether 
earth  is  enough,  whether  its  joys  are  perma- 
nent, its  pleasures  satisfying,  its  peace  unbro- 
ken ;  and  it  will  return  a  mournful  negative 
to  the  appeal.  And  let  it  be  asked  whether 
there  is  a  heaven  for  virtue  and  holiness ; 
whether  there  is  forgiveness  for  contrition  and 
repentance ;  whether  all  that  was  excellent  and 
elevating  in  the  souls  of  those  whom  we  loved 
perishes  with  the  body,  or  lives  with  God ;  and 
the  questioned  heart  will  answer  from  its  ful- 
ness, that  earth  will  claim  its  own,  and  heaven 


'iTn.  2G5 

its  own  ;  that  dn<t  will  return  to  du*t,  an«l  th.« 

:   that   they  wlm  -iu-ir 

B  'lowed    their    Saviour,   where 

presence   fo:  mre. 

resigns  the  objects  of 

regn:  :h«-m  up:   the  urave 

The  heart  sees   t! 
tii--  heart  hears  them  ;  the  heart  < 
always.      And  tin-  unprrvrrted   In-art,  tin-  hon- 
est,  affi*  '  -art,  adds  its  full  y  to 

n,  and  bears  witness  that 
God  lives,  and  Christ  is  risen,  and  the  son 

t)i:it  things  seen  are  tempo- 
ral, and  things  unseen  eternal  :    that  realities 
are  on  the  other  side  of  the  grave,  and  n<> 
tt  shadows  are  here,  and   that  ti 
and  li^ht  are  there. 
••  \ 

not  by  -i-lit."  i.-d    l.y  ihr    t 

eternal,  ratlier  than  by  th?    things   tnn] 
We  !  -he  realitic-,  ratln-r  than  the  shad- 

ows.     \\  ;r   hold   on    that   which    is 

than  HII  that  whirh  - 

itself  may  tell  u*  is  passing  away.     In  th< 
cerns  of  our  souls  we  regard  the  auth 
souls,  and   not   the   enemies  of  our  sunk      \\ '«• 

ilirt    to   t 

' 

•id    th"    L  ni'-li  will 


266  WALKING  BY  FAITH. 

be  revealed,  rather  than  on  the  present  world, 
which  soon  will  be  no  more,  and  its  objects, 
which  will  soon  vanish  from  our  eyes.  This 
is  the  declaration  of  Saint  Paul ;  and  the  way 
which  he  adopts  and  announces  is  the  only 
true,  and  rational,  and  living  way.  The  Chris- 
tian has  far  more  reason,  more  evidence  and 
better  authority  for  walking  by  faith,  in  the 
path  of  conduct  and  the  regulation  of  life,  than 
they  who  question  or  wonder  at  him  can  have 
for  walking  by  sight.  In  his  turn  he  may  ques- 
tion and  wonder  at  them.  Why,  he  may  ask, 
do  you  walk  by  sight  ?  Why,  formed  to  look 
upward,  are  you  continually  bending  your  spirit 
towards  earth  ?  Why  do  you  confine  your 
hope,  that  divine  and  soaring  faculty,  to  fleet- 
ing objects,  which  perish  while  you  pursue 
them  ?  Why  do  you  bind  your  affections  so 
tightly  to  things  which,  though  visible,  are 
visibly  withering,  and  which,  even  if  they 
should  remain,  cannot  follow  you,  cannot  be 
taken  with  you,  out  of  the  world  ?  Why  do 
you  look  for  your  friends  among  the  dead,  — 
as  if  the  clods  of  the  valley  could  bury  good- 
ness, or  hide  and  cover  sin  ?  Are  you  your- 
selves going  nowhere  but  to  the  grave,  which 
necessarily  bounds  and  terminates  every  earthly 
prospect  ?  Alas  !  that  all  your  sight,  that  all 
your  evidence,  should  be  shut  up  there,  should 
end  by  conducting  you  there !  Is  there  no 


WALKING  BY  FAITH.  267 

•rion,    no    innnor- 

tality  '.'      I-  t  life  of  sen-e   more  \\  orthy 

thai  of  the  soul  ?     Oh,  why  do 

you  walk  by  sight  ? 

.Mv  friends;  do  we  walk   by  faith9     Do  we 
walk  as  if  th  other  thin^  in  existence 

beside  what  we  see,  and  of  far  more  glory 
and  d«-irahlene<s  than  what  we  see  with  our 
mort  •  '  Do  ¥  ••' -  alk  as  if  (  'hrist  had 

from  tin-  dead,  and  revealed  an-'ther 
world  to  onr  souls,  in  comparison  with  which 
tin's  nothing,  hut  in  |»r-  i  for 

which  this  world  is  everything?  Let  u^  pon- 
der with  ourselves  that  question.  And  let  us 
remember  that  tl  on  is  not,  whether  we 

\  e  in  God,  in  Christ,  in  the  tin 

and  spiritual  world,  hut  whether  we  mould  our 
dispositions,  our  purples,  our  arti< 

.••  of  th;r  ii-:  merely  irhi 

we  have  taith,  hut,  more  especially,  whether 
we  walk  by  faith  ;  whether,  !  in  God, 

valk    in    the   way  of  his   ei>imii;m<lm> 
whether,  believing  in  Chi  walk    as  he 

walk---!,  in  1.  je,  self-denial,  and   1'iety  ; 

whether,   K'-Iievin^   in    }\\^   roui-i-'-etiMii.  we 
knowledge  its  p<>  om  our 

•  t   .us  us  on  things  above. 

S,  1838. 


SERMON  XXIII. 


LESSONS  OF   AUTUMN. 

The  grass  withereth,  the  flower  fadeth;  but  the  word  of  our 
God  shall  stand  forever.  —  Isaiah  xl.  8. 

THE  prophet  of  the  old  dispensation  is  quoted 
by  an  apostle  of  the  new.  "  The  grass  with- 
ereth,"—  thus  the  solemn  strain  is  echoed  by 
the  apostle  Peter,  — "  and  the  flower  thereof 
falleth  awray ;  but  the  word  of  the  Lord  en- 
dure th  forever." 

It  appears  to  me  that  these  sublime  words, 
so  full  of  pathos  and  of  trust,  must  have  been 
written  by  the  one,  and  repeated  by  the  other, 
in  that  season  of  natural  decay  when  the  grass 
was  withering,  and  the  flower  was  fading  in 
their  sight,  when  they  saw  with  human  sensa- 
tions that  all  the  greenness  and  beauty  of 
earth  was  passing  away,  but  felt  at  the  same 
time,  as  servants  of  the  Most  High,  that  the 
truth  and  promises  of  their  God  were  above 
change,  and  would  endure  forever. 


OF  AUTUMN.  269 

Year  a:  m   the  time  of  the  apos- 

:ne  of   tlu-    prophet,    from   an 

iian  hi-,  the  same  untiring  chant 

has  been  uttered  by  the  withering  grass  and 

the  fading  flowers.     The   feel  in;:-  i    l>y 

the  autumnal   season   are  unvaried,  but  they 

are  so  true,  so  deep,  so  near  to  t  mis 

of  our  lite,  that  they  are  always  l'iv-h,  always 

powerful.     Time  after  time  we  may  go  into 

the    airumnal     woods,   and,    while    the     \ellow 

leaves  fall  slowly  down  and   touch  the  earth 

with  a  sound   so  soft  that    it    i-   a!; 

the  self-same  thoughts  shall  be  suggested  to  us, 

and  yet  without  appearing  hackney. -d  «,r  oM. 
.shall    he  as  ati'ectin;:   tin-    last    time  as  tin- 
shall  even,  like  tin-  words  «,t'  linr 
poetry,  or  of  ancient  ]. raver,  endear  themselves 
by  repetition.     Are  they  not  j  are  they 

not  prayer?     When  nature  and  the  1 
verse  together,  they  converse,  like  old  friends, 
on    familiar     and    domestic    thin;;-,    on    t: 
which  cannot  lose  their  interest,  —  the  common 
•:al   truths  of  mortal  i' 

i    wliieli    runs   through    tl: 
•  •rse,  that    th-  --vidrnt   analogies  and 

.sympatli  -iir  mortal  condition    and 

lition   <-t    all   outward   things.      '1 
analn^ir-  and  sympathies  are  the  >am«-  in  every 
age.     Th  t'-lt.  utt<-n-«L  in  every 

age.       Th«-    utterance   of    th 


270  LESSONS    OF  AUTUMN. 

from  mouth  to  mouth.  They  often  arise  to  the 
same  heart  and  the  same  lips  ;  but  man  can- 
not weary  of  the  final  truths  of  his  mortal  con- 
dition. They  are  his  poetry  —  his  prayer  : 
his  poetry,  while  they  rest  in  the  present  world; 
and  his  prayer,  when  they  are  united  with  the 
future,  and  with  God. 

And  what  are  the  suggestions  of  autumn  ? 
What  do  we  think,  and  what  do  we  say,  when 
we  behold  the  leaves  falling,  the  grass  wither- 
ing, and  the  flower  fading  ?  The  peasant,  as 
he  pauses  in  his  toil ;  the  cottage-dame,  as  she 
sits  at  her  door  ;  the  man  of  business,  when  he 
quits  the  paved  and  crowded  streets ;  the  young 
as  well  as  the  old ;  ay,  and  the  giddy  and  gay 
as  well  as  the  serious  :  all  express  essentially 
the  same  sentiment  which  poets  express,  and 
which  the  prophet  proclaimed,  and  the  apostle 
repeated,  long  centuries  ago.  "  All  flesh  is 
grass,"  says  the  prophet,  "  and  all  the  good- 
ness thereof  is  as  the  flower  of  the  field." 
"  For  all  flesh  is  as  grass,"  repeats  the  apos- 
tle, "  and  all  the  glory  of  man  as  the  flower 
of  grass."  That  is  the  moral  which  never 
tires.  That  is  the  feeling  which  is  as  old  as 
the  time  when  the  first  leaf  fell  dry  and  shriv- 
elled at  the  feet  of  the  first  man,  and  as  re- 
cent as  the  present  season  of  decadence  and 
death.  The  conviction  that  all  the  goodliness 
of  man's  mortal  frame,  that  all  the  glory  of 


*SONS   OF  AUTUM.\.  J71 

man's  earthly  prospects,  hopes,  and  plans,  is  the 

bean1  ithering    grass,   and    the  array  of 

home  to  all  hearts  hv  the 

sighing  winds  of  autumn.      Oh  bond  unbroken 
nature's   frailest    children    and    our- 
is  not  conscious  of  its  realitv  and 
its  force?     Oh  primi;  -'uerhood 

herhx  and  hlossoms,  and  the  sons  of  men;  be- 
tween the  green  thim:<  which  spring  nj>  and 
thru  wither,  and  I  lit  things  which  uu- 

veen  these,  and  coun- 
tenances which  bloom  and  then  change,  eyes 
which  >parkle  and  then  are  quenched,  brtAth- 
ing  and  blessed  forms  which  appear  in  huvli- 
ness  and  then  are  gone  !  who  does  not  ac- 
knov.  if|  claims  of  kindred?  "Snn-lv 

the   j  is  grass;"  —  surely,   thm    is  no 

more   stability   in    the    strongest   of   mankind 
than   in  "the  grass  of  the  field,  which   to- 
ll, and  to-morrow  is  cast  into  the  o\ 

Go  into    the    firlds    and   woods,    when    M  tin- 
wind    of   the    Lord"   has  blown   upon   them  : 
when  the  blasts  and  the  frosts  of  autumn  i 
been  deal  h  them.     A  change  has  passed 

over  rverythinir.  from  tin-  loftiest  and    hro.-i 
tree  of  the  forest  down  to  the  little  wild  plants 
at  its  roots.      U'in^-d  seeds  are  borne  about  by 
the  :  .      !  i.-scrnd  in  dark  >ho\v- 

ers.     Dry  and  bare  stems  and  stalks  hoai 
rattle  against  each  other,  the  .skeleton,  of  what 


272  LESSONS  OF  AUTUMN. 

they  were.  You  cannot  raise  your  eyes,  but 
you  look  upon  the  dying  ;  you  cannot  move, 
but  you  step  upon  the  dead.  Leaves  and 
flowers  are  returning  to  the  dust  ;  can  you 
forbear  thinking,  that,  in  this  universal  des- 
tiny, they  are  like  yourself?  Dust  thou  art, 
and  unto  dust  thou  shalt  return.  Can  you 
forbear  thinking  that  the  successive  genera- 
tions of  men,  like  the  successive  generations  of 
leaves  and  flowers,  have  been  cut  off  by  the 
death-frost,  and  mingled  with  common  earth  ? 
And  are  not  individual  names  whispered  to 
your  memory  by  the  dying  fragrance  and  the 
rustling  sounds,  —  names  of  those  who  flour- 
ished, faded,  and  fell  in  your  sight?  Perhaps 
you  think  of  the  fair  infant,  who,  like  the  last 
tender  leaf  put  forth  by  a  plant,  was  not 
spared  for  its  tenderness,  but  compelled  to 
drop  like  the  rest.  Perhaps  your  thoughts 
dwell  on  the  young  man,  who,  full  of  vigor 
and  hope,  verdant  in  fresh  affections,  generous 
purposes,  and  high  promise,  and  bearing  to 
you  some  name  which  means  more  to  the 
heart  than  to  the  ear,  —  friend,  brother,  son, 
husband,  —  was  chilled  in  a  night,  and  fell 
from  the  tree  of  life.  Or  perhaps  there  rises 
up  before  you  the  form  of  the  maiden,  delicate 
as  the  flower,  and  as  fragile  also,  who  was 
breathed  upon  by  that  mysterious  wind,  lost 
the  hues  of  health,  and,  though  nursed  and 


SS0ATS   OF  AUTUMN. 

watched  with  un  -"iild   not  bo 

!,     hut     faded     a\\ay.       You    aiv     not 

alone   in  -\\\\    WOO     .  gb    no   living 

j;  is  near  you.     Thin  and  dim  ome 

ii  among  the  with- 

grass,  walk  with  you   in   tin-  \n  path. 

Forms  01  .  edt  shades  of  the  lost,  mind- 

mages  of  those  who  have  taken  tluii 

place  with  the  leaves  past 

summer, —  t  ak    not,    they    make    no 

how  surely  do  tin  y   l.»;n    witness 

to  the  words  of  the  apo>;  thr  pro; 

till  yon    |  r   l.tndn   in    every  hn-r/f,— 

at  inc.      u  The  grass 

b,  the   flower   fadri'h,"  i>   tin-  annually 

repeated  >train  t'r<.in  tlu-  ti»-Id>  an.l  ITOpdfl  :    and 

man's  h«  lea,  M  All  flesh  is  grass,  and  all 

as  the  t!  :   the 

theme  and  the  same  response,  and  lie,  too,  has 

ited  and  .     "  As  for  man, 

his  days  are  as  grass ;  as  a  flower  of  th     ii  Id, 

so  he  flom  US  th'-  win  'A.-rit, 

and  it  is  gone,  and   the  place   ti  hall 

a ore." 

ilmist  or  the  prophet  or  the 

apo-v  holy    WOrds,    and 

:  !    >u«-h  plain- 

'     N'  11  does  so.      How 

•  iid    faithful     i 
18 


274  LESSONS    OF  AUTUMN. 

God,  proclaimers  of  truth  and  religion,  stop  at 
the  boundary  of  decay  ?  They  pass  imme- 
diately from  the  truth  of  death  to  the  truth  of 
life.  "  But  the  word  of  our  God,"  says  the 
prophet,  "  shall  stand  forever."  "  But  the 
word  of  the  Lord,"  says  the  apostle,  "  endur- 
eth  forever."  "  But  the  mercy  of  the  Lord," 
sings  the  royal  bard,  "  is  from  everlasting  to 
everlasting  upon  them  that  fear  him."  Happy 
will  it  be  for  us,  if,  while  we  feelingly  perceive 
the  transitoriness  of  nature  and  of  man's  mor- 
tal state,  we  acknowledge  the  steadfastness  of 
God's  word,  and  the  everlasting  mercy  of  his 
providence.  That  which  passes  away  should 
speak  to  us  of  that  which  remains.  The  con- 
stant rotation  of  decay  is  an  intimation  of  the 
Being  who  ever  lives  to  superintend  it ;  whose 
throne  decay  cannot  harm,  because  decay  itself 
is  his  ministering  servant.  The  certainty  of 
death  reveals  an  eternal  word  which  com- 
mands death,  and  which  both  killeth  and 
maketh  alive.  Let  that  word  be  our  trust, 
even  when  we  look  on  the  withering  grass,  and 
think  of  the  perishing  children  of  men.  Let 
it  be  our  trust,  as  it  was  the  trust  of  those 
"  holy  men  of  God,  who  spake  as  they  were 
moved  by  the  Holy  Ghost "  ;  and  as  it  always 
is  the  trust  of  those  who  behold  the  operations 
of  that  same  Spirit  in  all  the  signs  of  the 
universe,  and  feel  its  promptings  in  all  the 


VS  OF  AUTUMN.  07- 

nobl  liin  them.     If  wo  cannot 

•uity,  which  soon 
ill,    in   goodlinesa    and  glory, 
le  and  j-a-N  away,  let  us  trust  in  t lie- 
word   which    (.plains    their    vanNiin^    and   de- 
tliat  word   is  above  them,   and 
It'  the  soul  has  any  trust, — 
rongs  its  nature  and  ne«: 

:i     it    ha<    no    trust,  —  it 
in    something   which 
What   is   abiding   hut    the   word    of 
God  te  grass  v  ,  the  Hoi 

hut   the    word  of  our  God  shall   st 
forev 

The  very  grass  itself  as  it   withers,  and  the 
flower  as  it  fades,  seem  to  express  such  a  ti 
in   their   humble    manner,    and    to   inculcate    it 
i:  and  fading  human  luvtlir.-n. 
the  grass  withers  !     How  sub- 
iOWI  its  head  on  its  stalk  : 
how   sweetly   it   exhales    IN   last   odors  ;  how 
peacefully  it  fa-ks!     Nature  dies  gently.      I 

Do  you  hear  any  discordances  in 
parti  !  I    harmonious, — 

as  ID  .    'lioii^h  with   a   ditlricnt    cl 

as  the  melodies  of  sj  Vnu    may  1>     af- 

ith  sadness  as  you  listen,  but  it  is 
a  sadness  which  soothes  and  softens,  not  dis- 
turb- an<!  terrifies.  1  R ith  the 

ping 


276  LESSONS    OF  AUTUMN. 

amidst  the  autumnal  emblems  of  human  dis- 
solution ;  but  I  must  only  wonder  at  him  if 
he  weeps  tears  of  anguish  or  despair.  I  could 
not  weep  so,  surrounded  by  such  mild  and 
uncomplaining  monitors.  I  perceive  that  the 
honors  of  the  forest  are  resigned  without  a 
struggle.  Wherever  I  turn,  all  is  acquiescence. 
There  is  no  questioning  the  will  of  Heaven. 
There  are  no  cries  when  the  leaves  part  from 
their  stems,  and  sink  to  the  ground.  How 
can  I  do  violence  to  the  spirit  of  submission 
and  trust  which  is  diffused  about  me  ?  It 
rebukes  my  misgivings,  if  I  have  indulged 
any  ;  it  silences  my  repinings,  if  unthinkingly 
I  have  uttered  any  ;  it  steals  into  and  hushes 
my  heart.  Why  should  we  not  receive  the 
lessons  which  nature  is,  even  though  uncon- 
sciously, teaching  us  ?  Why  should  we  break 
the  general  peace  ?  Let  us  trust  in  the  word 
of  God,  though  it  sends  forth  the  decree, 
"  Return,  ye  children  of  men  !  "  Frail,  fad- 
ing, perishing,  —  what  are  we  without  trust  ? 
The  support  of  the  soul  is  trust  in  God,  trust 
in  the  eternal,  undecaying  word  of  God. 

And  in  nature's  decline  at  this  season,  it 
may  be  observed  further,  there  is  not  only  the 
expression  of  quiet  submission,  but  of  hope 
and  joy,  —  such  joy  as  they  should  feel  who, 
though  in  extremity,  know  that  the  word  of 
the  Lord  endures  forever.  There  are  no 


>'TUMN.  277 

•r   hue>    than    tlxxe    of  autumn.      Tlione.li 
tin-  i  .  and  turn  to  darkness 

aii-1   dust,  they  wear   their  brightest  Colon 

•es  are  not  cloth,  d  in 

mourn  i  n  ir,  hut   in   triumphal  robes;  in   M-arlct 
and  irold,  lil.  Do  they  not  prefu 

tin-   deep  and   solemn  joy  which   may   i' 
and  'he  soul,  the   trusting  lorf,  in   tin- 

prospect  of  the  last  change?     The  trees  can- 
not I  e    new  dress  which    they  sliall 
put    on,    \\h«-n    tin-    warm    inflncmvs    of  sj-rin^ 
ni  tlie  sap   into   their   l»ranchcs  ;   hut    man 
may  contemplate  the  season  when  "mortality 
1  up  of  life"  ;  the  sea- ... 

IS  to   nature,  hut  of  incon- 
ition  :   tlie  tim--  when  a  new  earth 
shall    he    under    him,    and    new    hcavms    < 
him,  and  glories  of  which  he  cannot  now  , 
any  liall  clot!  j.irits 

of  th-'  iv 

>s  withei-  fadeth  : 

hut  ih.   word  of  our  God  shall  stand  forever." 
And  a-k  whether   it    is    not   that    \.-ry 

with  the  grass  and  fading  of  the  llo\\er 

!i  most  effectual  1  us  to  rest  on  the 

word    of    G«'i  1  ietioii     of    frailty 

which      i>     thus     impressed     upon     the     1 

t-»r  that  which    i>  dui'ahle 

uuchan^-alile,  and   to  seek   tor  its  security 

it    is    to    be    found.      While    the 


278  LESSONS    OF  AUTUMN. 

green  and  glossy  leaves  stand  thickly  on  the 
trees,  we  walk  beneath  them  in  shadow,  and 
only  see  the  earth,  and  the  things  which  grow 
out  of  it  ;  but  when  the  leaves  begin  to 
fall,  the  light  comes  in,  the  view  is  opened 
upward,  and  we  behold  the  ever  blue  and 
vaulted  sky.  The  goodliness  of  man  and  his 
glory,  are  they  not  likewise  apt  to  conceal 
the  goodliness  and  glory  which  are  above,  in- 
finitely above  them  ?  When  they  fade  and 
are  shaken  down,  a  new  radiance  visits  our 
eyes,  the  sunbeams  shine  in  by  day,  and  the 
moonbeams  and  starbeams  by  night,  and 
heaven  is  revealed  to  the  watching  soul. 

"  The  word  of  the  Lord  endureth  forever; 
And  this  is  the  word,"  adds  the  apostle, 
"  which  by  the  Gospel  is  preached  unto  you." 
The  word  of  God  is  spoken  unto  men.  It 
is  the  word  of  life,  light,  and  immortality, 
heard  of  old  by  but  few  and  but  partially, 
now  published  openly  unto  all  ;  brought  by 
Jesus,  preached  by  his  apostles,  confirmed  and 
sealed  by  his  blood  and  by  theirs ;  the  trust, 
the  comfort,  and  the  joy  of  those  who  have 
believed  in  and  followed  them.  The  word  of 
the  Most  High  and  Holy  ;  his  promise  of  the 
year  which  knows  no  blight  or  fall :  this  shall 
endure,  though  grass  withers,  and  flowers  fade, 
and  hearts  faint,  and  flesh  fails,  and  the  bodily 
forms  and  outward  beauties  and  glories  of  men 


ZSONS   OF  AUTUMN.  279 

change  and  dry  up  and  drop  to  the  earth  like 
autumnal  .       I  -k   on  whieh 

thf  man   may  lean    amidst   all    tem- 

poral decays.  God  —  heaven  —  eternity,  — 
what  else  can  l»e  the  sure  rest  of  tin-  -Mil? 
grass,  the  flower,  the  leaf,  that 
we  should  trust  in  them  ?  What  is  their 
with'  ':i.Lr,  their  Hilling,  that  it 

should  di>turb  our  trust? 


"  Let  sickness  blast,  let  death  devour, 
If  heaven  roust  recompense  our  pains; 

-h  the  grass,  and  fade  the  flower, 
If  firm  the  word  of  God  remains !  " 

OCTOBKU  26, 1835. 


SERMON   XXIV. 
IT  IS  WELL. 

And  she  answered,  It  is  well.  — 2  Kings,  iv.  26. 

TOUCHINGLY  submissive  and  full  of  pious 
trust  was  this  answer  of  the  Shunamite  woman 
to  the  servant  of  Elisha.  She  had  been  seen 
by  the  man  of  God  afar  off,  as  she  was  coming, 
laden  with  her  sorrows,  to  seek  him ;  and  he 
had  sent  Gehazi  to  meet  her,  and  to  inquire  of 
her  welfare  and  that  of  her  family.  The  in- 
quiries were,  "  Is  it  well  with  thee  ?  is  it  well 
with  thy  husband  ?  is  it  well  with  the  child  ?  " 
That  child,  the  child  of  her  age,  her  only 
child,  had  just  died  in  her  arms,  and  was  then 
lying  a  corpse  in  her  house.  "  And  she  an- 
swered, It  is  well." 

A  son  had  been  given  to  her  in  her  declin- 
ing years,  according  to  the  promise  of  the 
prophet.  He  was  sent  to  her  and  her  hus- 
band, like  a  flower  in  winter,  to  cheer  them 
with  its  unexpected  fragrance  and  its  late  and 


IT  IS  WELL.  281 

The  shadows  of  life' 
lowly  darkening  the  walls  of 

'•lit    now  they  smiled  with   :in   un- 
won:  :  :    and  !ne-s    which    had 

settled  (  !i   was  broken  by  the  echoed 

gayety  of  childhood.      Life  had  now  for  the 
parents  object   and    a   new    purpose. 

j  had  a  -watch  over,  to  pr<> 

to  rear  and  educate.  \\h«»m,  by  the  strong- 
est of  bonds  and  the  dearest  >  they 
could  call  their  own  ;  —  a  bein;r  whose  hopes 
and  j  in  unloo!. 
est  in  tin-  future,  and  whose  presence  was  as  a 
constant  memory  of  their  own  momii  _  It 
may  well  be  supposed  that  such  a 

•in  sepai  1   that  the  mother,    espe- 

ciallv,  wmdd  hardly  ever  trust  lu-r  child   i 

came  when  In-  i 
no  longer  be  confined  to  the 

.  d    manhood,  be   : 

•  •ss  manly  c-ni|iloynirnts  and  labors.     Still, 
however,  if  he  occasionally  quit  one  ; 
is   only    to  place  himself   at    the 

:ive    INN     111" 

season,  it  is  only  to  take  some  message  to  his 
father  in  tin-  field,   or   l,rar    him    pleasant    c 

pany  at  i  :  when  the  ehiM 

•ini:    hi- 

'A. -Mt     Ollt     to    1 

•aid   unto    \\. 


282  IT  18  WELL. 

My  head,  my  head."  A  sudden  illness  had 
attacked  him.  Perhaps  the  hot  sunbeams,  as 
is  not  uncommon,  had  beat  too  fiercely  on  his 
young  head.  His  father,  not  aware  of  his 
danger,  merely  gives  orders  that  he  shall  be 
reconducted  home.  "  And  he  said  to  a  lad, 
Carry  him  to  his  mother/'  O  where  but  to 
his  mother  shall  the  child  be  carried ;  and 
where  shall  he  be  safe  from  the  smiting  sun, 
and  where  shall  his  sick  head  rest  and  his 
fevered  brain  be  quieted,  and  his  pains  be 
soothed  and  dispelled,  if  not  on  his  mother's 
breast  ?  But  the  blow  had  fallen  too  surely. 
The  lad  did  as  he  was  ordered.  "  And  when 
he  had  taken  him,  and  brought  him  to  his 
mother,  he  sat  on  her  knees  till  noon,  and  then 
died."  "  He  sat  on  her  knees  till  noon." 
Patiently,  patiently  did  she  hold  him,  watching 
his  countenance  as  it  grew  paler  and  colder, 
and  his  eyes  as  they  waxed  more  dull,  till  at 
last  all  hope  was  extinguished,  and  the  child 
ceased  to  breathe. 

And  now  that  late,  sweet  flower  is  withered. 
The  shadows  fall  deeper  and  darker  than 
before  on  the  Shunamite's  house,  since  the 
spirit  that  was  its  light  has  been  taken  away. 
Where  is  now  the  father's  solace  at  his  toil  ? 
Who  is  there  to  go  out  to  him  while  he  is  with 
his  reapers  ?  And  who  shall  sit  at  home  with 
the  mother,  beguiling  her  hours  and  improving 


IT    7N    11  OS3 

ide  while  >he  im- 
plores   tl  (Jod  ?     I 

their    home  !        1  [on     aimless     their 

I iut  the  motlicr  spends  not  her  time  in  tl 
lings.     S  •  pP-plu't  K'Mia. 

into  the  ehamher  which   her 
hospitality   had    provided    tor   him    in   IUT  own 

1    lai«l  1    son    upon    his 

44 and  shut  the  door  upon  him  and  went  out'* ; 
and  i'«|uippiu;:  herself  tor  the  journey,  lmst< 

of  God  to  Mount  Canm-1,  \\lu-n- 
as  at   tl.  tlu-  mo- 

tives -d  her  to  this  strp,  we 

d  hy  tli.-   history  preci-.-!y  \^  trll. 
1  only  t'or  OOOOMlt  "lge" 

J  mpathy.       l*iM-liaj»-,    as    lu-r   fliihl 
in  so  remarkable  a  maim  r  -ivt-n  to 

.t  to  ask  why   h«?   had   h«'«-n    i 
away   again   so   I  and   so    «  arly,   and 

any  sin  on  her  part  had  callrd  d 

di-j.Ifii^nrr   and    cha^tisrincnt   of 
it  may  be  that  slu    <  h»  i- 
•!y,  hut  tond- 
liich  ->h-  utter  to  no  on--,  \ 

:•  hu-hand,  that  (ind  \\..nld  hear  the  prayer 
of  hi>   pp.phrt,  and   restore  to  her  the  trea 
whi<  -ame  int'-i-et-^ion  hr  had  \>  «tOH  «'d. 

ipefl  nr  intention>,  her 
1  '  proof  that    her    mind  was 


284  IT  IS    WELL. 

firm,  collected,  and  resigned.  "  Is  it  well  with 
thee  ?  "  said  the  messenger,  in  the  name  of  his 
master;  "  is  it  well  with  thy  husband?  is  it 
well  with  the  child  ?  And  she  answered,  It 
is  well."  Her  whole  errand  was  not  to  be 
intrusted  to  the  servant,  but  reserved  for  the 
hearing  of  the  prophet  himself.  It  was  enough 
for  her,  at  the  time,  to  express  her  conviction 
that  no  real  evil  had  befallen  herself  or  her 
family.  Gehazi  no  doubt  understood  her  as 
meaning  that  she  and  hers  were  in  health  and 
prosperity.  But  there  were  far  deeper  mean- 
ings in  her  soul  when  she  answered,  "It  is 
well."  She  knew  that  in  the  common  and 
superficial  sense  of  that  phrase  it  was  little 
applicable  to  her  situation.  She  knew  that 
her  son  was  dead,  and  that  her  house  was  in 
mourning.  But  she  felt  that,  in  a  holier  and 
more  thoughtful  sense,  the  phrase  was  strictly 
suitable  and  true.  "  And  she  answered,  It  is 
well." 

This  is  and  always  must  be  the  answer  of 
real  piety  in  every  providential  affliction.  It 
will  be  profitable  to  consider  its  import  in  con- 
nection with  the  circumstances  of  the  above 
history,  and  analyze  the  thoughts  which  very 
probably  were  in  the  mind  of  the  bereaved 
mother  as  she  gave  it  utterance.  Those 
thoughts  may  have  taken  a  form  somewhat 
like  the  following,  while  Gehazi,  the  servant 
of  Elisha,  stood  before  her. 


IT  /s   n  285 

"  V  11  with  nu\  with  my 

Im-Kind.  and  with    my  child  '/      Certainly   it    is 

all.     My  chi!  '.     1 I  is  hraii- 

tit'ul  When    I    kissed    his 

it  ehilled    in.-.      TheM   hands  have 

y  no  lonpi    "|,ni  on  the 

in  tin-  lovely  things 

of  earth.  .    up   to   the    hlrs>rd  itgn,  nor 

do  tl  \  any  longer  to  mine.     Hi-  q 

and  hi>  walks  are  over.    The  dark  tomb  in  the 
is  ready  for  him,  and  there  will  his  body 
be  resoh'  0t      \\ ;•!  -M-ll  \N  ith 

him.  Mi-  -i'irit  has  rriurnrd  to  God  who  gave 
it,  at.  now  coniinniu's  with  it- 

He  is  safe;  safer  with  his  Father  in  heaven 
than  with  me  on  earth.  How  do  I  know  that 
he  may  not  have  been  tak<  n  away  from  i 

evil  to  come,  worse  than  the 
smiting  of  the  sun  by  day  or  the  moon  by 
nigh*  i;«t  I,  the  mother  who  bore  him, 

may  not   have  had  cause  of  more  an^ui>h  in 
his  lit'e  than  I  hav«-   now  in   his  death?      !: 
gone  where  there  are  no  snares  for  inn«  <  ence, 
no  t  us  to  excess  and  disobedimc  ,  and 

when     n<»  toes  can  come.     He   mn-t   1  «    safe, 
•  •  is  in  the  dwelling-pi  AC*  of  God.    And  ho 

must  be  happy  ;   haj  n  with  me.      It  is 

true  tha*  •   had  seldom  throbhed, 

.  hut  had  laid 
ices  of  joy  and   ] 


286  IT  1S  WELL. 

as  a  young  heart  should.  Yet  sorrows,  which 
come  to  all  hearts,  must  have  come  at  last  to 
his ;  and  how  do  I  know,  blind  as  I  am,  how 
his  might  have  been  wrung  ?  But  where  he 
is  now,  sorrows  are  not  and  can  never  be.  God 
loved  him,  and  therefore  he  took  him  wholly 
to  himself,  and  to  the  pleasures  and  the  glories 
which  are  forever  springing  up  in  the  pathway 
of  those  whom  he  has  led  into  his  heavenly 
paradise.  How  can  I  dare  to  bring  into  com- 
parison the  joys  which  I  here  see  to  be  so  fad- 
ing with  those  which  there  must  be  perennial ; 
or  lament  that  he,  my  darling  and  only  son, 
should  be  removed  from  these  to  those  ?  What 
they  are,  or  where  is  the  place  of  their  growth, 
I  cannot  tell.  Nor  have  our  prophets  told  us 
much  concerning  them  ;  for  they  can  declare 
neither  less  nor  more  than  is  given  them  to 
speak.  But  my  own  soul  tells  me  that  the  soul 
of  my  son  lives,  —  lives  with  the  souls  of  all 
saints,  and  with  God  the  Maker  of  them  all, 
in  the  light  of  whose  countenance  he  cannot 
be  otherwise  than  happy,  beyond  my  power  to 
imagine.  Yea,  it  is  well  with  him. 

"  And  it  is  well  with  me.  It  is  well  with 
us,  his  parents,  who  expected,  in  the  course  of 
nature,  to  go  before  him,  and  not  to  have  been 
left  behind.  We  are  stricken  in  years,  but  we 
have  yet  much  tq.  learn.  It  is  good  for  us  that 
we  have  been  afflicted.  It  is  well  that  we  have 


IT  /s  u  287 

been  will  of  the  ty  is 

superior  to  the  course  of  n  ul  to  be 

I  to  our  own  calculations  and  wishes. 
We  i  ;liat  we  are  strangers  with 

him,  and  soj  .  as  all  our  father- 

and  tha:  in  of  our  pilgrimage  and  so- 

journ, ami  the-  time  of  our  departure  hence,  are 
determined,  and  best  determined)  by  his  pleas- 
ure and  not  by  ours.  I  am  afraid  that  we  had 
forgotten  that  our  times  were  in  his  hand  :  and 

••ur  child  belon^-d   t<>  him  more   j 
than  to  in  ;   and  that    the  ^it't  was  not  ' 
our  affections  from  the  (iiver,  nor  prevent  us 
i  considering  that  time  and  age  were  hnr- 
_;  us  away  from  all    earthly  deli-hts  into 
the  immediate  presence  of  the  only  Good.     It 
is  well  that  we  have  been   reminded,   th 
with    seeming   severity,  <>t'  these  great  truths. 
For  I    am  conscious  that  the 

nearer  I  was  approaching  to  my 

joun  !"ss    I    th  '    its   end.  and  the 

more  unwilling  I  was  to  be  brought  to  it. 
son,  innoceir  Itofefl   my 

find,  who  did  DOi  •    I      mid 

take  into  :n, 

worship  it.     I  see  this  now,  for  my  eyes 
have  pened     I  l'«-«-l  it,  :  ;  has 

been  well.     It  is 

I  can  see,  and  feel,  and  1  !•••  in- 

structed.     It  is  well 


288  IT  IS  WELL. 

condescends  to  instruct  me,  even  by  chastening, 
and  to  cure  me,  even  through  suffering  ;  for  I 
feel,  that,  while  his  hand  is  heavy  and  sore 
upon  me,  it  is,  like  that  of  a  wise  physician, 
healing  me  too.  He  has  been  twice  gracious 
to  me  :  when  he  gave,  and  now  that  he  has 
taken  away ;  let  me  say  with  our  patriarch, 
Blessed  be  his  name  for  both.  It  is  well  that 
I  can  say,  Blessed  be  his  name.  It  is  well 
that  I  can  render  something  to  the  Lord  for 
all  his  benefits,  and  show  him  that  I  am  not 
utterly  regardless  of  them.  It  is  well,  I  say, 
that  I  can  render  something  to  him,  if  it  is 
only  my  submission,  my  wants,  and  my  tears. 

"  It  is  well.  If  the  Lord  had  not  needed 
my  child,  he  would  not  have  sent  for  him. 
He  was  spotless,  he  was  fit  for  the  Lord's  pur- 
poses, and  therefore  he  has  taken  him  to  be  his 
messenger.  I  am  sure  that  he  came  as  an 
angel  to  me ;  and  if  now  he  is  wanted  for  some 
higher  service,  who  am  I  that  I  should  deny 
him  to  his  Creator  ? 

"  It  is  well,  in  one  word,  because  w^hat  has 
been  done  has  been  done  by  the  Lord  my 
God,  and  whatever  he  does  must  be  right  and 
good.  There  is  evil  enough  in  the  world  from 
the  abuse  of  his  goodness,  evil  enough  is  done 
by  his  disobedient  creatures  ;  but  all  that  he 
does  is  and  must  be  right  and  good.  Our  wild 
passions  and  rebellions,  our  murmurings  and 


IT  AS  H'/  /./..  28D 

.   our  vain   regrets  for    things  as 

s,   omissions, 

ire  wrong  and  evil  : 

doings  of  God,  and  events  and 

apjx  of  his  providence,  th^e  must   all 

and   good,  whether   they   IK-   atllietive 

or  j«  My   affliction    certainly   has  come 

tore  it  is  right  and  good. 

Yea,  it  i>  well." 

It   was  the   will    of  God,  as   wi    learn    from 
this  woman    .should    have    her 
son  restored   to   her  through   the   prophet's  in- 
tercession,     lint  it  was   1»,  tore   this  event  that 
she  i.  lew  hu:  words  of 

resignation.       In   >imilar  .sorrows  of  our  own, 
;uay    not    look    tor    a    miracle,    which   was 
peculiar  to  her  CM6j  hut   should    rather   imitate 
.nation    and    adopt    her    words,    which 

are  always  applicable  to  all  cases,  and   may 

be  received  like  balm  into  all  wounded  hearts. 

miraculous  restoration  of  life   in   an    indi- 

vidu  ice  may  confirm  our  religion^  faith, 

and  help  our  submission,  inasmuch  as  it  shows 

that  lit.-  and  death  are  equally  in  the   hands  of 

mder    his     supreme    direction.       A 

miracle,  ho\\.  npK  ,  be- 

Can>  it  is  a  :  irturc  from  a 

nion  and  estahli.si  .     Uut  the  spirit 

and  words  of  resignation,  of  pi'-ty,  <>l'  faith,  are 

:nple   to   all.       With    the    Shunam- 

19 


290  IT  IS  WELL. 

ite  mother,  all  bereaved  parents  may  answer, 
"  It  is  well."  And  with  far  better  reason 
than  she  had  may  all  Christian  parents  adopt 
her  words.  Her  child  was  brought  back  to  a 
brief  and  uncertain  life,  again  to  suffer  and 
again  to  die.  Our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus 
Christ  raised  all  our  children  to  life  eternal,  in 
the  hour  when  he  took  little  children  into  his 
arms,  and  proclaimed  that  of  such  was  the 
kingdom  of  heaven ;  and  when  he  rose  himself 
from  the  grave,  he  gave  all  believing  parents 
the  assurance  that  they  should  rise  to  meet 
their  children  again,  and  to  part  no  more  for- 
ever. 

AUGUST  28, 1831. 


SERMON   XXV, 


OFFICES  OF  MEMORY. 

I  remember  the  days  of  old  ;  I  meditate  on  all  thy  works. 
Pialm  cxliii.  6. 

1 1<>\\  l.ountifully  gifted  is  in;in.  lie  lives, 
not  only  in  thr  piv>iMit,  l.ut  in  the  ]>a-t  ami  the 
future.  The  days  of  his  childhood  belong  to 
him,  even  w  i  iiitu  and  his  eyes 

are   C  :   ami   heaven    itself  may   open    on 

ii,  while   hr  is  \vah.l«-iin^  among  tin- 
shadows  of  earth,  ami  dwdlii,  .lade 
iv.      I  !»•  may  look  back  to  the  rosy  dawn 
and  faint  glimmerings  of  hi-               tnal  <la\  : 
and                                             .'•(!  si^lit  discerns 

niliar 

The  grea:  <»f  our  mental   |  ! 

drawn  from  the   sources   ,,t    im-ni'Tv  :ind  hope; 
for,    while    h«»pe    is     constantly    adorning    the 

colors  and  hriidit    im .-> 
uory  is  as  active  in  l^nn-in^  hack  tu  us   the 


292  OFFICES   OF  MEMORY. 

joys  of  the  past ;  and,  though  it  is  also  her  duty 
to  introduce  its  pains,  it  is  with  the  veil  of 
time  becomingly  thrown  over  them,  to  soften 
the  severity  of  their  features,  and  render  their 
presence  not  only  endurable,  but  often  sooth- 
ing and  welcome. 

But  I  would  not  speak  of  the  pleasures 
alone  which  these  kind  handmaids  of  our  life 
are  commissioned  to  procure  for  us.  They 
hold  instruction  in  their  keeping  ;  and  if  we 
will  intimately  and  seriously  converse  with 
them,  we  may  receive  from  their  lips  the  les- 
sons of  wisdom  and  virtue.  They  are  to  be 
consulted  on  the  real  business,  as  well  as  the 
meditative  delights,  of  existence  ;  for  what 
would  be  the  excitement  of  labor  without 
the  encouragements  of  hope  ?  and  where  could 
experience  go  for  his  treasures  if  the  store- 
house of  memory  should  fail  ?  I  might  com- 
pare these  faculties  to  the  valuable  friends 
who  are  always  found  ready  to  minister  to 
our  amusement,  and  participate  in  our  gayety, 
and  equally  ready  to  counsel  our  sober  hours, 
and  assist  our  emergencies  with  effectual  help. 

Let  us  give  our  attention,  at  this  time,  to 
the  instructive  voice  of  memory.  Let  us  lend 
a  careful  ear  to  the  moral  of  her  tales.  Let 
us,  like  the  Psalmist,  when  we  remember  the 
days  of  old,  hallow  our  reminiscences,  by  med- 
itating on  the  works  of  God,  by  tracing  the 


OFFICES   0:  r  i>93 

I  of  a   merciful    Providence    through    the 
rtunes   of  our   course.      We  all    have 
.    we  all    have    sorr«>\\-.   and   we   all    1. 

ember. 
I.  inoryof  joy  fur  hack   in 

annals  of  0!  -   life.     Indeed 

are  many  who  persuade  themselves  that  : 
nevi-i  leasure  except  in  the 

earliest  stages  of  their  career,  who  complain, 
that,  when   the  hours  of  childhood  flew  a 
:    the  hot    joy.   of  life    upon    i 

ion    to    he  the   minister   of 

youth,  and  care  to  be  the  portion  of  manhood, 

and  regret  and  pain  to  drag  old  age  into  the 

grav  mot  sympathi/e  in  these  gloomy 

'.  s.     I  consid  as  in  a  hi^h  <1< 

happiness  which  (iod    h.. 

out    liberally    through    every   division    of  <.ur 

days,  and   which    can    be  missed  or  ion 

in  hardly  any  other  manner  than  throitji   "iir 

,1    Hn>.       Hut    I    do    not    the    less    share    the 

visions  and  particij. ate   in   the  pleasure  of  thOM 

who  love  to   retrace   the   ^r.M-n   paths  of  their 

early  years,  and  refresh  their  hearts  with   tlie 

opect  of  guileless   innocence,  of  sunhnuhr 

I   that  the   mere-t    trifle  could 

trs    that    any    kind    hand 

could  \\  i  many  M  t    in 

.  loft,  and 
dim.  .inter's   ai't    to 


204  OFFICES   OF  MEMORY. 

copy,  but  hung  up,  as  in  an  ancient  gallery, 
for  the  visits  and  contemplation  of  our  maturer 
minds.  Mellowed  they  are,  and  graced,  like 
other  pictures,  by  the  slow  and  tasteful  hand 
of  time.  The  groves  through  which  we  ran 
as  free  as  our  playmate  the  wind,  wave  with 
a  more  graceful  foliage,  and  throw  a  purer 
shade  ;  the  ways  which  our  young  feet  trod 
have  lost  their  ruggedness,  and  are  bordered 
everywhere  with  flowers  ;  and  no  architecture 
that  we  have  since  seen,  though  we  may  have 
wandered  through  kings'  palaces,  can  equal 
the  beauty  of  the  doors  which  our  hands  first 
learned  to  open,  and  of  the  apartments  which 
once  rang  with  the  echoes  of  our  childish 
glee. 

Then  there  was  joy  in  our  hearts  when  we 
first  began  to  take  a  part  in  the  serious  busi- 
ness of  life,  and  felt  that  we  were  qualifying 
ourselves  for  a  station,  perhaps  an  honorable 
one,  among  our  seniors.  We  were  joyful 
when  we  won  the  prize  of  exertion,  or  received 
the  praise  and  the  smiles  of  those  whose 
praise  and  smiles  were  worth  to  us  more  than 
any  other  reward.  Joy  was  our  companion 
when  we  first  went  out  a  little  way  upon  the 
broad  face  of  the  earth,  and  saw  how  fair  and 
grand  she  was,  covered  with  noble  cities,  and 
artful  monuments,  and  various  productions, 
and  the  busy  tribes  of  men.  Joy  came  with 


OF  >r  MEMORY. 

:;on,   and   confidence,   and 

i;inge  of  hearts  and  thoughts. 

.  we  were  joyful  when  we 

were   virtuous   and   useful  ;  when    we   strove 

agai  :ati..n,  and   knew  that 

our  j;  to  subdue  it  ;  when  we 

;t  boldly,  and  denounced  injustice,  and 

A  hen  we  gave  up  a  selfish 

gratification,  and  n •< •« -ived  a  blessing  :  when 
we  forebore  to  speak  ill  of  a  rival,  though  by 
so  doing  we  might  have  ad  >ur  «»wn 

n<  :   when    we   dismissed   envy   from 
bosoms,  and  ma  i  e  place  to  a  generous 

adn.  when  we  forgave  an  enemy,  and 

prayed  from  our  hearts   that  God  mi 
give  him  ton  hed  out  a  will- 

ing hand,  to  heal,  to  help,  to  guide,  to  protect, 
to  save;  in  -JuTt,  whenever  we  discharged  an 
obligation,  and  performed  a  duty,  and  earned 
the  aj  on  of  conscu  : 

Let  me  not   omit,    in    the    enumeration    of 

joys,  the  memory  of  our  religion- 

and   improvements.       L  t    me    not   be  so   dull 

i  as  to  pass  by  the  h..urs  which 

d    to  a  close  and  filial   <  nm- 

mnnion  with  our   i  in  heaven  ;   the   hours 

!t  the  burden  of  mortality  taken 

off,  and  our  souls  left  li^ht  in  rhen  we 

breathed  a  1>  ,  and  saw  with  a 

:i,  becau>  of  another  world 


296  OFFICES   OF  MEMORY. 

was  around  us,  and  the  clouds  of  doubt  had 
vanished  away.  There  have  been  seasons  in 
the  life  of  every  Christian  when  he  has  per- 
ceived that  a  fresh  beam  of  divine  light  has 
come  in  upon  his  soul,  that  he  has  acquired  a 
new  apprehension  of  the  attributes  and  prov- 
idence of  God,  and  that  he  has  taken  another 
step  in  the  path  of  a  holy  pilgrimage.  Such 
seasons  are  sacred,  and  sacredly  let  them  be 
kept,  in  the  record  of  every  heart. 

I  have  mentioned  some  of  the  joys  to  which 
memory  may  point  us.  The  recollection  must 
not  be  barren  of  improvement.  It  will  show 
us,  in  the  first  place,  how  beneficent  our  Cre- 
ator has  been  to  us  in  furnishing  each  age  with 
its  appropriate  pleasures,  and  filling  our  days 
with  a  variety  as  well  as  a  multitude  of  bless- 
ings. It  will  teach  us  to  keep  an  honest 
account  of  our  enjoyments,  and  to  avoid  the 
fault  of  those  who  minutely  reckon  up  their 
pains  and  misfortunes,  but  ungratefully  pass 
over  the  kind  allotments  of  Providence.  He 
who  is  faithful  to  the  mercies  of  Heaven  will 
not  forget  that  he  has  tasted  them,  even 
though  they  may  have  been  long  resumed. 
He  has  once  had  them  for  his  own,  and  that  is 
enough  to  inspire  him  with  gratitude  for  the 
past,  and  with  trust  in  the  continuance  of  his 
Father's  love. 

There  is  another  moral  which  may  be  de- 


OFFICES   OF  MFV.'K}'. 

duced  fr  Milu-unce  of  our  joys.     Tt 

is  evident  that  they  are  not  all  of  equal  value, 

and  that  we  mn-t  dwdl  on  some  of  them  with 

more    cnmp].,  ,nd    satisfaction    than    on 

>hall  find,  it'  our  moral   taste 

rted,  that  the  joys  which 

afford  the  gn  at.  >t  d< liidit  to  our  memory  are 
those  \vhich  flowed  in  childhood  from  its  inno- 

:ter-life  from  our  good  d 
n  is  obvious. 

:rring  to  the  innocence  of  our  fir-t    years, 
let  it  !•••  mir  watehttil   can-   t<»   n-tain    and 
serve  it ;  for  it  is  not  necessarily  destroyed  by 
km>v.  ;.»rs  it  invariahly  depart  at 

rity.       It  i-   in    c<uitinual  dan- 
ger, and  it  must  be  gunnl  d   \\iih   coi 
It  is  like  a  fountain,   which  springs  up  in   a 

.  and  is  immediately 

to  rude  contamination  and  surroundim;   impu- 
iv  l.uild  a  t«-mj»le  over  it.  and 
keep  it   :  1  (dear.     A   similar  impi 

•  may  be  made  «.t  tin-  memory  of  our  good 

-houhl   use  all  di  in  adding 

to  their  store ;    for  if  they  are  now  the  most 

I   of  the  soul,  they  certainly 

will    not   diminish   in   price  when    the  common 

ntl  of  life  are  losing  their  relMi,   and 

ngages  us,  and  th 

our  energies  l.ing  away,  and 

wait  us    ot'  departure.       \\'liat 


298  OFFICES   OF  MEMORY. 

solace  is  there  to  an  aged  man  like  the  mem- 
ory of  his  virtuous  actions  !  What  medicine  is 
there  so  healing  to  his  wasted,  solitary  heart ! 
What  ground  of  hope  is  there  so  sure  to  his 
spirit  next  to  the  mercy  of  his  God  and  the 
intercession  of  Christ  his  Saviour !  And  what 
wealth  would  not  many  a  sinner  give  to  pur- 
chase that  which  the  wealth  of  both  the  Indies 
is  too  poor  to  buy  ! 

II.  But  it  is  time  that  I  should  change  my 
subject,  and  come  to  a  sadder  theme.  We 
cannot  pass  through  the  world  without  the 
experience  of  sorrow ;  and  of  this,  as  well  as 
of  joy,  memory  becomes  the  monitor.  Here 
also  she  has  a  tale  to  tell  of  the  days  of  old ; 
for  even  innocent  childhood  is  not  exempt  from 
grief,  and  many  a  cloud  will  rise  to  interrupt 
the  brightness  of  its  morning.  So  is  it  with 
every  succeeding  period  of  our  brief  day.  We 
were  born  to  sorrow,  and  our  lot  must  be  ful- 
filled. 

And  let  us  not  complain  that  the  shadows  of 
sorrow  return  to  haunt  us,  after  the  term  of  its 
actual  existence  is  over.  Why  should  they  not 
be  permitted  the  same  license  as  the  phantoms 
of  delight  ?  The  laws  of  memory  are  impar- 
tial, and  do  us  no  more  injustice  than  the  laws 
by  which  the  realities  of  our  condition  are 
dispensed  to  us.  If  our  sufferings  as  well  as 
our  enjoyments  are  rightly  ordered,  why  not 
the  remembrances  of  both? 


OFFICES  0!  '!T. 

Whether  we  are  led  back  more  tre picntly  to 

:•  tlio  Bloomy  passages  of  lit!',  de- 

v  inm-h  on  tli'-   structure  ami   tone  of 

:•   of  nur    present 

lerved,  h"\\ 

tliat    in  kM   the   transition  is  easy  from 

what  we  are  to  what  we  were  ;  that  it  U  nit, -n 

without   any  c\crti..n   nr  even  vnlitinn  of 

1   that   tiling  of  the  li^li: 
sequ 

;f.     A  f;i(M»  which  nuM'ts  us  for  a  monn'in 
in  the  -trrrt,  an  old  tree,  a  piece  of  h 

,  a  snatch  nf  mu-ir,  th«*  si-hini:  nf  the 
wind,  may  hrim:  alnn^r  wjtli  tin-in  a  crowd  «•!' 
imagina!  !  scenes  winch  l.ad  n 

irs»  and  seenn-.  1  t->  have  gone 
fore\ 

icroory't  land  waves  never  a  leaf, 
There  never  a  summer  breeze  bl< 
But  »ome  long  smother  .1  thought  of  joy  or  grief 

Starts  op  from  its  deep  repose; 
And  f  TIIM  are  living  and  visible  there, 

ch  vanish'd  long  since  from  our  earthly  sphere." 

We  all  of  US  know  best  what  mir  n\vn  calam- 
have    hc.-n,   :ui'l  kno  Aen  and 

•!y  th-ir  i  atllicts  us.     S- 

:-hajiN,  came   al"ii--    in 

f  our    li;  •  iiin^   on    our 

young  and  flourishing  hn;  the  c..ld  east*- 

.  a  h.-a|.  nf  with- 
es, and  G  MIT   li'-art  with  a  mil- 


300  OFFICES    OF  MEMORY. 

dew,  which,  though  time  and  the  sun  have 
acted  upon  it,  is  still  felt  there,  in  the  return- 
ing fits  of  memory,  in  its  melancholy  damp- 
ness. Or  perhaps  we  were  doomed  to  undergo 
the  torturing  attack  of  severe  disease,  or  casual 
pain  ;  and  we  shudder  when  we  recur  to  its 
agonies.  It  may  be  that  we  lost  our  property  ; 
that  we  were  cruelly  neglected  by  the  world, 
or  unaccountably  forsaken  by  a  friend  ;  and 
the  thoughts  of  these  things  trouble  us  in  the 
midst  of  our  calmest  repose.  But  there  is  a 
thought,  darker  than  any  of  these,  and  more 
common,  too,  with  all  of  us,  and  more  fre- 
quently crossing  the  minds  of  all  with  its 
sweeping  shadow,  —  the  thought  of  those  who, 
though  tenderly  loved,  were  never  valued  as 
they  ought  to  have  been  till  they  were  re- 
moved from  our  sight,  —  the  thought  of  that 
oppressive  hour  when  the  hand  which  had 
been  so  often  warmly  grasped  in  ours  grew 
colder  and  colder  as  we  held  it,  and  that  ex- 
pressive countenance  became  fixed  like  mar- 
ble, which  even  then  was  answering  ours  with 
a  placid  smile,  —  the  thought  of  those  who  are 
gone  from  among  us  —  the  memory  of  the 
dead.  I  will  not  dwell  more  minutely  on 
this  remembrance.  It  would  be  cruel  to  do 
so.  Perhaps  I  have  already  said  too  much 
on  a  subject  which  needs  no  description  to 
bring  it  home  most  painfully  to  our  bosoms. 


s  or  M:  Ml 

Perhap>  I  have  struck  too  liarslily  on   a  chord 

will  catiM«  to  vil. 

with  .      '      -  how   many   simplv    words 

there         .       i'l    unnoticed    tliin--.  which  raise 

s  of  past  times  before  the  eye  of 

our  spirit,  and  make  our  heart  swell  and  throb, 

even  in  the  press  of  the  indifferent  crowd,  and 

I  does  not  know  it,  because  outwardly 

we  are  calm,  and  Wfl   mix    with    its  people,  and 

VM  "ii r  lousiness  as  they  d 

•v  of  our  sorrows  is  fit; 

a  favorable  influence  (n\  the  character  l.\ 
ening  it,  and  moulding  it  to  the  form  of  gentle- 
ness, -paring  it  for  the  impre— i<>ns  of 
•v.  The  memory  of  dktp- 
point  us  a  friendly  warning  in 
the  season  of  extravagant  expectation,  and 
teach  us  to  si  more  cautiously 
than  \\  e  di<l  hi-fore,  lest  they  should  inert  with 
a  similar  hli^htinir.  m<>r\  <.f  sickness 
may  m  in  a  course  of  hetdbn  indul- 
>t  over  to  us  the  history  of  our 
pains,  an  11  back  into  the 
path  of  *ion;  or  it  may  speak  to  us 
while  we  are  in  the  innocent  enjoyment  of 
health  and  ease,  and  without  rudely  a'arming 
as  may  kindly  tell  u<  how  frail  we  are,  and 
how  nt  on  the  will  of  the  Almighty. 
inory  of  our  lost  I -i'-nd-  hai  many 
solemn  I  --ting  les-  enjoin  upon 


302  OFFICES   OF  MEMORY. 

us.  It  may  whisper  to  us  a  kinder  treatment 
of  those  who  are  still  left  to  us,  and  entreat  us 
to  avoid  even  a  word  or  look  which  might  in- 
flict undeserved  pain  on  those  who  are  likewise 
mortal  and  of  uncertain  continuance.  It  will 
also  bid  us  prepare  to  take  our  place  with  them 
in  the  grave,  and  so  to  cherish  and  imitate  all 
that  was  good  in  them  as  to  be  found  worthy 
of  joining  them  beyond  the  grave  in  the  man- 
sions of  eternal  happiness. 

III.  It  remains  for  me  to  speak  of  the  mem- 
ory of  sins ;  which  ought  to  be  the  saddest,  and 
which  may  also  be  the  most  useful  memory  of 
all.  It  is  a  memory  which  addresses  itself  to 
every  conscience,  and  to  which  none  but  a 
careless  or  a  hardened  conscience  will  refuse 
to  listen  with  serious  attention.  Who  will  say 
that  they  have  never  committed  sin,  and  there- 
fore cannot  be  annoyed  by  its  remembrance  ? 
If  there  be  any  such,  they  must  be  answered 
in  the  words  of  St.  John,  "  If  we  say  that  we 
have  no  sin,  we  deceive  ourselves,  and  the  truth 
is  not  in  us."  It  cannot  be  true  that  we  have 
no  sin.  The  most  obstinate  self-deception  alone 
could  induce  us  to  maintain  an  assertion  so 
easily  refuted,  and  so  contrary  to  all  experi- 
ence. What  !  Have  we  never  wasted  our 
time ;  never  abused  our  faculties  and  privi- 
leges ;  never  disobeyed,  with  full  knowledge 
of  the  wrong,  a  commandment  of  God?  Have 


OFFICES  OF  MK.M»!;Y.  303 

we  iv  .  ami  then  idly  or 

reby 

i)ur  «li<a;  nul  pain?     Have  we 

never  failed  to  st;r  lear  and  open   truth, 

Io,  or  some  other  m 
wor>  than  tliose?     Have  we  n 

tained  what  was  not  rightfully  our  o\\  \ 

i    an   unfair  advantage  of  our  neighbor  ; 
neve  i  of  authority  or 

!i  has  been  placed  in  our  hamU,  10 
ad  of  a  refuge,   it   became  a   tonn 
f  we  bet-n   guilty  of   no  secret  faults  or 
I iut   I   will   ask  no  more  questions 
of  this  nature.     Surely,  we   hav»»    >imird   and 
done   wickedly.     L«t    us   not   aggravate    our 
ces  by   denying  that  we  have  offend.  ,1 : 
i  memory  repeats  to  our  hearts    the 
ry   of  our  misdn.U,    Kt    us   recti\»     tin.' 
.    nay,    r  n-ntlv,    that 

we  may  be  |  haps  sa\ 

not  repented  of  sin,  it    i-   tln« 
office  of  memory  to  lead  us  the  first  steps  to 
•  e,  by   which   we   secure   forgivn 

It  i-  her  part  to  remove,  with 
<lly  solid'  :h  which  w  may 

•»ur  past  iniMl.,'m^s.  It  is  h«T  part 
to  dwell  with  anxious  «-mphasis  on  those  hints 
of  former  days  from  which  we  would  gladly 
turn  away  OK  tions.  Oh  that  she  i 

be  M  to  persevere,  \viti 


304  OFFICES   OF  MEMORY. 

efforts,  till  we  are  subdued  by  contrition  and 
penitence,  and  sink  down  in  humility  and  self- 
abasement  before  a  merciful  and  pardoning 
God! 

But  have  we  repented  of  sin,  and  felt  that 
we  have  been  forgiven  ?  Even  then  let  mem- 
ory come  and  tell  again  the  history  of  error 
and  disobedience.  The  recital  will  remind  us 
of  our  frailty,  convince  us  of  our  sin  fulness  ; 
and  we  shall  thus  be  put  upon  our  guard 
against  future  acts  of  folly  and  rebellion.  A 
shield  will  be  given  us  against  impending  dan- 
ger ;  a  motive  to  increased  precaution  and  vig- 
ilance. Beacon-lights  will  gleam  out  from  the 
past,  to  guide  our  present  course,  and  warn  us 
of  the  old  and  sunken  perils.  In  times  of  ex- 
citement, of  delusion,  of  trial,  when  the  enemies 
of  our  virtue  and  constancy  are  out  upon  us 
with  their  forces,  and  we  waver  in  the  conflict, 
happy  will  it  be  for  us  then  if  the  meuiory  of 
former  guilt  rise  up  and  interpose  itself  between 
us  and  them,  point  to  the  melancholy  conse- 
quences of  defeat,  and  stimulate  us  to  the  vic- 
tory. Good  reason  we  shall  have  to  render 
thanks  to  God,  and  ascribe  to  him  the  power 
and  the  praise,  crying,  "  Not  unto  us,  O  Lord, 
not  unto  us,  but  to  thy  name  give  the  glory." 

Cherish  the  memory  of  your  innocent  and 
lawful  joys,  that  you  may  be  grateful,  just,  and 
contented  ;  of  your  sorrows,  that  you  may  be 


OFFICES   OF  MEM 01,  3<>5 

kind  to  your  friends,  and  careful  of  youiM  1 
of  your  li  you   may  be  penitent,  and 

liuinMe,  and  wairhtul.      And  God  grant,   that 
memory  may  be  the  tri«  nd  of  your  last  d. 
and   tlie  soother  of  your  dying  bed! 

JAKUAKT  1, 1826. 


SERMON  XXVI. 


PEACEFUL  SLEEP. 

I  will  both  lay  me  down  in  peace,  and  sleep;  forthou,  Lord, 
only  rankest  me  dwell  in  safety.  —  Psalm  iv.  8. 

WHEN  the  work  of  the  day  is  done,  and  its 
record  is  written ;  when  the  sun  has  set  upon 
whatever  we  have  performed  or  neglected,  suf- 
fered or  enjoyed  since  his  rising ;  when  the 
deep  shades  of  night  have  closed  around  us, 
and  our  wearied  head  demands  its  pillow,  our 
natural  aspirations  are  for  peaceful  sleep. 
Though  our  temples  are  not  pressed  by  the 
weight  of  a  diadem,  yet,  with  the  royal  psalm- 
ist, our  prayer  will  be  for  repose  and  protec- 
tion ;  for  a  heaviness  will  be  on  our  brows,  of 
which  we  would  fain  be  disburdened,  and  our 
conscious  weakness  will  call  for  a  Guardian,  to 
whom  it  can  resign  itself  securely.  If  we  are 
human,  we  shall  desire  rest ;  and  if  we  are 
considerate,  we  shall  pray  for  it.  We  shall 
desire  rest,  —  rest  of  body  and  rest  of  mind. 


307 

We  shall  long  for  sleep,  and  not  for  sleep  only, 

ace. 
II  m  cmn  my  sleep  1..'  sweet,  unless  I  lay 

Unless  the  spirit  be  C 

1,  how  can  slumber  come  to  i  s  so 

softly,  and  refre>h   my  bndily  powers  so  com- 

!  I  ?     Unless  peace  smooth  my 

pillow,  how  can  it   Ixj  easy  to  my  head'/      I 

;  lay  me  down  in  pi:> 

I   must  be  at  peace  when  I  lay  me  down,  at 

peace  with   myself.     My  conscience,  my 

unl.  nest  conscience,  must  tc 11  me  that 

pa-t   i-  yi  t  not  lost ;  that  I 

done  some  thiii;^  in  its  course  which  will 

give  me  no  pain   •  .1   which  my 

angel   will  not  be  ashaim-d  to  record;   that  I 

have  inch  will  tend  to  my 

,    or    unlearned    somewhat   which 

has  1  iding  to   my    injury.      It   nm-t    tell 

me,  that,  if  I   have  labored,  it  has  not  been   in 

i  -e  of  vanity,  whose  wages  are  nou 
or    i  ice   of  sin. 

li  ;   that,  if  I  have  abstained  from  lab< 
has  not  been  to  indulge  a  slothful  habit,  but  to 

Jit    or    increased 
'ice  must  tell 

.  if  I  lia\<-  b  I  have  r. 

ed  t  n  ;   that,  if  I   have  been  afilictrd,  I 

have  not  idly  and    ungratefully  murmured   and 
lied,   but  ha  1   and   Mibmitted,  and 


308  PEACEFUL   SLEEP. 

acknowledged  the  chastisement  to  be  wise  and 
kind  and  paternal.  My  conscience  must  faith- 
fully tell  me  wherein  I  have  offended  against 
the  laws  of  virtue  and  against  my  own  soul ; 
and  when  the  accusation  is  brought,  my  heart 
must  humbly  acknowledge  it,  and  prevent  the 
flight  of  peace  by  sincere  repentance.  The 
spirit  of  God  must  bear  witness  with  my  spirit 
that  my  attachment  to  the  things  of  the  spirit 
is  gaining  confirmation  ;  that  my  grasp  on  the 
things  of  earth  is  losing  its  earnestness  and 
tenacity  ;  that,  as  the  past  day  has  brought 
me  nearer  to  the  gate  of  death,  it  has  given  me 
a  clearer  and  happier  prospect  of  the  region 
which  lies  beyond  it.  My  passions  must  be 
still ;  the  sounds  of  warfare  or  riot  must  not  be 
heard  in  my  bosom ;  the  stings  of  remorse 
must  not  torment  me  ;  the  suggestions  of  evil 
desires  must  not  beset  me  ;  but  reason  must 
bear  sway,  and  virtuous  thoughts  must  occupy 
me,  and  gentle  affections  must  move  me  ;  for  I 
must  lay  me  down  in  peace  with  myself. 

I  must  also  be  at  peace  with  others,  when 
I  lay  me  down.  With  those  who  lie  down 
under  the  same  roof  with  me,  let  me  feel  that 
I  am  at  peace.  Let  not  the  ranklings  of  do- 
mestic discord  corrode  my  heart,  and  postpone 
the  hour  of  my  repose.  Let  me  not  be  sensi- 
ble that  I  have  wronged  or  grieved  or  inten- 
tionally offended,  by  act,  by  word,  or  by  look, 


309 

•at  op  hv  coldness,  any  one  of  those  whose 
1    especially  be  my  happiness, 
ami  ^  sh<>nld    he   clothed   with   a 

sacn  Jit,  such  as   tin*  anc 

attributed   to   their   household  deities.       As   I 
,  in  succession,  each  cord  which  connects 
me  with  those  who  are  nearest,  let  me  feel  that 
it  is  sound  and   unworn,  and  in  no  dange 
breal  And    with   all    those   whom    I  am 

i  dailv  business  and  ii 

cours  ,  1.  t   me  be  assured  that  I   am  at  peace 
me  down  at  ni^ht.      I    must  look 
recesses  of  my  breast  as  searchingly 
as  I  can;  and  if  there  be  any  envy,  ma 

!«•(!,  lurking  nmnni:  them,   1    must 
forthwith    discharge    '  ktl     of   such    un- 

tul    inmates  and   intruders.       I    must  be 
that  love  has  presided  over  my  walk 
and  •  |   communications  with    my  t«-llo\v- 

at  my  dealing  have  been  liberal,  my 
action*  i  deportment  kind.      It'  I 

been  injr  me  be  ]  d.»n  the 

injury  ;   ^>   that    when   hy  and  by   I   pray  that 
passes   may  be  f  1    may  add 

with.  ->s,  **  as   I  those  wh  >  tres- 

pass me."       If    my    wrath    has    been 

.  even  for  sufficient  cause,  let  me  know 
it    U   now  IIM  :    that    its    la>t,  lifigeT- 

ill.-    la-t    rays   of    the 
!^  >un,  and  •  .  -st  dews  < 


310  PEACEFUL  SLEEP. 

ing  fell  coolly  upon  its  ashes.  If  I  have  ene- 
mies, let  me  know  that  the  enmity  is  on  their 
part,  and  not  on  mine  ;  and  that  I  have  stud- 
ied the  things  which  make  for  peace ;  and  that, 
as  far  as  in  me  lies,  I  live  peaceably  with  all 
men.  With  my  family,  with  my  friends,  with 
my  companions  and  neighbors,  with  the  whole 
world,  let  me  feel  that  I  am  at  peace,  so  that  I 
may  lay  me  down  in  peace,  and  sleep. 

And  thus  shall  I  be  prepared  for  the  blessed 
conviction  that  I  am  at  peace  with  God.  How 
can  I  lay  me  down  in  peace,  and  sleep,  un- 
less I  am  at  peace  with  him  ?  Has  he  not 
been  my  preserver  through  the  day  ?  If  sleep 
descend  upon  my  eyelids,  does  it  not  come, 
with  every  other  good  gift,  from  him?  And 
through  the  following  moments  of  the  night, 
as  they  tread  on  each  other's  steps  so  silently 
and  swiftly,  is  it  not  he,  and  he  only,  who 
keeps  and  defends  me  ?  What  a  gracious  care 
is  that  which,  while  I  sleep,  is  vigilant  on  ev- 
ery side  of  me,  and,  while  I  am  unconscious, 
is  providing  me  with  fresh  stores  of  mental  and 
bodily  strength.  What  a  mysterious  eye  is 
that  which  follows  my  soul  through  the  deep- 
est glooms  of  oblivion,  while  my  own  eyes  are 
fast  closed,  and  my  own  senses  have  forgotten 
their  office,  and  makes  the  night  to  be  light 
about  me,  and  creates  security  and  day  in  the 
midst  of  peril  and  darkness.  I  know  not  what 


ruL  SLKI  :}\i 

'   :iin  in  ilu'  hours  of  slumher,  l)iit   I 

know  that   the   L  .   Mild   tliMt   he 

watch   Mild   uphold   my    soul.      Above 

all.  tlu-n.  I  must  he  a:  \itli   him  \\\\**\\   I 

lay  i!  my  rest  at  night.     I  must 

i-eacc  of  those  whose 

Is  are  Stayed  on  him.      1  HUM  fed  that  the 

!  :i   myself  in   my   own 

cnnfnrmity  with   liis  spiritual 

laws  established  within   m  usi   feel   that 

I   cultivate1   with    my    \\\ 

ifl  will,  which  ord.iins 

mutual  love  and  1  the  mem- 

bers  of  his  great    human    lamily,   and   which 
was  full;.  :e  and   command- 

:    «»t   his   wt-ll-h.-loved  Son.      I  must 

that  all  tin-  p-ace  which  I  can  receive,  or  cnm- 

mui  ifl  in   unison  with   tlic 

peace  of  God  ;  and  that  the  peace  of  God  is 

>anctification  of  all  the   peace  of  earth  ; 

that  all   the  peace  of  earth,   unless  it  be 

l.l.'ssing 

and  rirhe-t   crown.      I    mu-t,    th-  i-lace 

my  love  on    him  :    must    duvet    my 

grati1  -i^'fly   to    him  ;    inii-t    r>tal»li>h   my 

moxt    lirmly  on   him.       I    \\\\\^\. 

look  hack  on  my  day  as  spent  in  his  si^ht,  and 

as  he  would  have  it  I]  i  \  ^\\\\<- 

iv  traii-i:!-i'  — i'Hi    I    mu>t    hum- 

my  soul  1  y  by 


312  PEACEFUL  SLEEP. 

true  penitence,  that  I  may  hear  his  forgiving 
voice,  and  be  at  peace  with  him.  At  peace 
with  him,  I  cannot  be  at  enmity  with  myself, 
or  with  aught  that  he  has  made  and  loves. 
Lulled  by  the  full  harmony  of  an  all-consent- 
ing peace,  I  shall  close  my  eyes  and  give  up 
my  soul  into  the  hands  of  its  Keeper,  saying 
with  the  psalmist,  "  I  will  both  lay  me  down 
in  peace,  and  sleep ;  for  thou,  Lord,  only 
makest  me  dwell  in  safety." 

Day  passes  rapidly  after  day,  and  night 
after  night  yet  more  rapidly  ;  —  and  then 
comes  the  night  of  death,  and  the  sleep  of  the 
grave.  When  will  they  come  ?  Name  the 
season  and  the  hour.  No  man  can  name 
them.  Earthly  days  and  nights  are  measured 
by  the  earth  and  the  sun.  In  summer,  the 
days  are  long  and  the  nights  are  short,  and 
in  winter  the  days  are  short  and  the  nights 
are  long.  We  can  name  throughout  the  year, 
from  experience  of  former  years,  and  relying 
on  the  continuance  of  our  revolving  svstem, 

o       »/ 

the  very  moment  when  the  sun  of  each  day 
shall  bid  that  day  farewell.  But  when  the 
day  of  each  one's  mortal  life  shall  end,  and 
when  the  shades  of  death's  dark  night  shall 
close  in  upon  it,  cannot  be  told  by  mortal 
tongue.  We  may  only  say  that  the  clay  of 
some  will  be  longer  than  the  day  of  others  ; 
and  that  the  night  will  fall  suddenly  on  some, 


313 

on  others  slowly  :  ;m  1  that  <omi»  will  be 
.  and  others  soothed   l.y  tl 

:   anil  that  some  will    lay  them   down 
to  t;  in  peace,  and  other-  in 

.     in    de-pair.      So    ha-    it 

.    an  1    to  will    it    probably  be.      But    the 

: iv   will    he   very   brief,   and  yet   <piite 

Ion;:  i   for  God's  purposes,  and   man's 

probation;  and  when  the  ni^ht  doe-  ooffi 

will  almost  always  come  —  for  so  has  God's 

ee    ordained    it  —  to    eyes    that    are 

id  a  head  that  is  weary. 
Death   is   called  a  sleep.     To   the    1     1\    it 
is  a  deeper  sleep,  of  which  the  grave 

t   sleep   has  dreams,  and    M  in 
p  of  death  what    dream-  may  COD 
I   kr.  A  hy  th«-    parallel 

p  and    (1  iv  not   be  continued,   and 

••p   to  the  -MI!,  a   dim 

and  .  to  be  followed  hy  a 

full  a  No  one  may  assert  ; 

that    it    is  not.      I»nt    it'  d--ath    ha-    it- 
will  they  not    partake  of  the  soul's  character; 
and  will    tin  •    painful   or  it  as 

'it    to    its    sleep    in    v  r  in 

peace?  ps  or  is 

tain    it   is  —  a  most  vital   and   *<>l.-mn 

dnty  —  that  the  presence  of  A I- 

.  who  knows 
Dg,  and  who  will   pro- 


314  PEACEFUL  SLEEP. 

nounce  its  doom.  If  there  be  a  fear  in  the 
heart  of  a  dying  man  that  his  soul  may  be 
forgotten  and  left  by  its  Maker,  —  vain  is  that 
fear.  If  there  be  a  hope  in  his  heart,  a  des- 
perate hope,  that  his  soul  may  escape  its 
Maker's  scrutiny,  and  fall  away  into  unsuffer- 
ing  nothingness,  —  as  vain  is  that  desperate 
hope.  It  cannot  be  lost,  it  cannot  escape  from 
him  who  made  it,  and  surrounds  and  follows 
it,  the  Fountain  of  all  being,  and  the  Soul  of 
souls. 

That  night  will  come  ;  that  sleep  will  come  ; 
and  it  is  thou,  Lord,  only  makest  me  dwell 
in  safety.  Ignorant  I  am  when  my  day  will 
close,  but  well  I  know,  that,  if  I  wish  my  sleep 
to  be  calm  and  my  rising  to  be  joyous,  I  must 
lay  me  down  in  peace.  And  my  peace  must 
be  made  up  of  the  same  materials  which 
formed  the  peace  of  every  preceding  night,  — 
of  the  love  and  the  duty,  the  piety  and  charity 
of  every  preceding  day.  The  memories  of  all 
obedience,  and  the  effects  of  all  penitence 
must  unite  in  producing  the  solemn  peace  of 
my  last  evening.  I  must  be  at  peace  with 
myself,  at  peace  with  my  neighbor,  at  peace 
with  my  God.  There  must  be  no  war  in 
my  soul,  no  enmity  with  my  brethren,  and 
my  entire  hope  and  trust  must  be  placed  in 
my  Saviour  and  in  my  God.  Then,  when 
the  sun  of  my  life  sets  behind  the  dark  moun- 


ACEFUL  315 


tains   and   t1  ]r.\<    come    tn  me 

a  to   all,   I    will   not  be  depressed  by  its 

deej-  liadows;  I  will  not  dread  I'N  -:itli- 

:    I     will    not    shrink     from     the 

sight    of    my  narrow  bed  ;   l>ut    k-  I   will    Imth 

lay  i  and   -l<Tj)  :  for  thou, 

d,  only  inakest  me  dwell  in   safety." 

SEPTEMBER  18,  18M. 


SERMON   XXVII. 


CHRIST  WITH  US    AT   EVENING. 

Abide  with  us;  for  it  is  toward  evening,  and  the  day  is   far 
spent.  —  Luke  xxiv.  29. 

ON  the  first  day  of  the  week,  the  same  day 
on  which  Jesus  arose  from  the  dead,  two  of  his 
disciples  were  journeying  to  Einmaus,  a  village 
about  seven  miles  from  Jerusalem.  As  they 
were  on  their  way,  talking  earnestly  and  in 
wondering  perplexity  of  the  mournful  events 
of  the  past  week,  and  the  exciting  reports 
which  they  had  heard  that  morning,  Jesus 
himself  drew  near  and  walked  on  with  them. 
They  did  not  recognize  their  Master,  for  they 
had  no  expectation  of  meeting  him  at  the  time, 
and  moreover  it  was  not  the  intention  of  Jesus 
to  make  himself  immediately  known  to  them. 
"  Their  eyes  were  holden,  that  they  should  not 
know  him."  He  inquired,  on  joining  them, 
what  it  was  which  formed  the  burden  of  their 
conversation,  and  which  seemed  to  be  of  so 


/'//   US  .1  VG.         317 


-addenin^    a    character.      The 
th<  ir    surprise  at  his  ap- 

pearing to  be  ignorant  of  the  late  transact  ion> 

!  -rusalem,  pro  veded   to   inform   him  of  the 

apprehension  and  crucifixion  of  Jesus  of  Naa- 

i,   "a  propli'  d   and  word 

before  God  and  all  whom   they 

them-  *ol  lowed  as  the  promised  M<  — 

siah,  believing  *4  that  it  had  been  he  \\  hu  should 

have    r«  !  It    was    now,    • 

•  I,*4  the  third  day  since  these  things  uvre 
had  just  been  fc*  made  aston- 
ished" by  the  asseverations  of  several  <>t  their 
company,  who  declared  that  the  body  of  th«-ir 
Master  was  not  to  be  found  in  the  sepulchre 
wher  ad  been  laid,  and  that  tli<  \  had 

been  told  by  angels  "that  lie  was  al 

\v  had  concluded  their  account!  in 

which    t1  >M'd    the    conflict    which    was 

going  on  within  them   between   their  grief  and 

di-appointm.-nt    and    their 
.  and  also  ma:  their   inahility  to 

gfl   and    -hameful  d-ath  of 
their  .Ma-ter  \\ith   the  conceptions  which   ;; 
as  J  med  of  his  dignity  and  ^ 

as  the  Messiah  of  Isra  ,  still  wire  vealcd 

to  ti  uk«  <1   them   as  "slow  of  heart  to 

!1  that  the  proj»hets  have  spoken."  and 
asked  th'-m  wln-ther  it  was  not  in  conformity 
with  tin-  |>rop!iL'tical  writini  ,  ]'ro]i.-rly  ii. 


318  CHRIST   WITH   US  AT  EVENING. 

preted,  that  the  Messiah  should  have  suffered 
thus,  as  an  entrance  into  his  true  glory. 
"  Ought  not,"  he  said,  "  Christ  to  have  suf- 
fered these  things,  and  to  enter  into  his  glo- 
ry?" And  then,  directing  their  attention  to 
the  real  character  of  the  Messiah,  and  recon- 
ciling humiliation  and  suffering  with  success 
and  glory,  "  he  expounded  unto  them  in  all 
the  Scriptures  the  things  concerning  himself." 
While  he  was  thus  unfolding,  as  no  one  else 
could  have  unfolded,  the  true  and  spiritual 
meaning  of  the  holy  writings,  his  words  and 
manner  exerted  their  accustomed  influence 
over  his  disciples.  Their  hearts  confessed  a 
wonted  power,  and  strangely  "  burned  within 
them  "  with  the  glow  of  awakened  sensations 
and  memories.  In  this  manner  "  they  drew 
nigh  unto  the  village  whither  they  went ;  and 
he  made  as  though  he  would  have  gone  fur- 
ther." But  they,  anxious  to  secure  more  of 
the  company  and  conversation  of  one  who  had 
so  deeply  interested  them,  urged  him  to  stay 
with  them,  and  adduced  the  lateness  of  the 
hour  as  an  argument  for  his  remaining,  —  say- 
ing, "  Abide  with  us,  for  it  is  toward  evening, 
and  the  day  is  far  spent."  Jesus  consented, 
and  "  went  in  to  tarry  with  them."  And  it 
came  to  pass,  as  he  sat  at  meat  with  them,  he 
took  bread,  and  blessed  it,  and  brake,  and  gave 
to  them."  Probably  there  was  something  in 


777    r>"   AT  EVENING. 

.and  in   the  words  which 
d  it,  by  which   their  Ma-  a  led 

:  ..     But  in  was  effect  ed, 

yes  were  opened,  and  they  knew  him." 

:ii>hed   out  of  their   si^lit  "  ; 
i   to  say  to  one  another,  "  Did  not 
;rn  within    us  while   he   talked  \\iii 
by  the  way,  and   while   he  opened  to   n-   the 
•  Mires?'*          nit  same  hour  tliey  returned 
to  J'  uit  had  taken  place, 

and  to  confirm  hv  their  testimony  tin-  mm 
.  of  their 

>  much  in  that  evening  seen.-  l.etween 

.inmaus  which  we  may  protit- 

ably  app  own    hearts.      \Vheih-\rrthr 

day  is  far  spent,  and  the  evening  i>  coining  on, 

in  >|.irit,  and 

I  ask  the  Saviour  of  m.-n 
to  abide  with  us. 

1.    An-i.  IIIMV  express   this  d«-iiv  for 

ri  companionship  at  the  time  of 

thr    natural    BTening.      At   that  calm  and    holy 

lie  sounds  of  the  world's  hu 
are  «  MT,  ami   tli<-  , 

i  <>ur  souls  are  in>eiisihly  dis- 
posed to  han  ith  the  time,  and  also  to 
,becoi  t  and  still,  whose  company  may 

than    that    of    tin-    DO 

peaceful,  and   -inless  Jr-u>  ?      Dni'in^    the    d;iy, 
it  may  !»••,  wiiile   the  climbing  up  the 


320  CHRIST    WITH   US  AT  EVENING. 

sky,  and  the  race  and  contest  of  worldly  pur- 
suits and  competitions  were  going  vigorously 
on,  our  thoughts  have  been  hurried  into  the 
midst  of  them,  and  in  that  turmoil  have  been 
excited  and  vexed,  bewildered,  and  then  fa- 
tigued even  to  exhaustion.  But  when  the  sun 
declines,  and  the  fever  of  the  strife  is  passing 
off,  our  thoughts  are  inclined  to  leave  the 
crowd  and  enter  into  more  green  and  solitary 
ways,  that  they  may  have  a  season  of  recovery 
and  rest.  Then  it  is  that  the  Saviour,  who 
is  always  ready  to  meet  sober  and  prepared 
hearts,  may  join  us,  and  walk  with  us  ;  and 
then  it  is  that  we  may  induce  him  to  abide 
with  us.  For  the  Master  may  abide  with  dis- 
ciples even  now,  though  not  in  the  body,  yet 
essentially,  and  as  effectually  as  ever,  in  the 
influences  which  proceed  from  his  life  and 
character,  and  which  join  themselves  to  the 
souls  which  invite  them.  He  abides  with  us 
when  the  model  of  his  example  is  near  to  us 
and  points  out  to  us  our  duty.  He  abides  with 
us  when  the  thought  of  his  love  toward  us, 
and  his  sufferings  undergone  for  us,  comes 
with  power  to  our  hearts,  causing  them  to 
burn  within  us.  He  abides  with  us,  really 
and  truly  abides  with  us,  when  his  own  spirit 
dwells  with  us,  —  when  we  feel  that  we  sym- 
pathize with  him  in  those  pious  sentiments 
which  filled  his  breast,  and  those  benevolent 


KIST    WITH   US  Al  VG.  ;;_M 

purposes  which  guided  his  course  on  earth, — 

D  we  enjoy  the  contemplation  of  his  ho- 

liiK-NS,   and  a  that  we  are  mad*1  better 

by   the    contemplation.       Thus    it    is    that    ho 

>    with    us.     And    how  can  we 
into   our   atl'eotions  a  more  profitable  giie 
When   t:  u  ho,  as  he,  can 

he  most  wise  and  gainful  otq 
of  our  fleeting  Imurs  '.'  Who,  as  lie,  can 
teach  us  to  improve  our  daily  opportunities, 
to  dispose  of  our  daily  cares,  to  discern  be- 
tween the  innocent  and  the  hurtful,  the  true 
and  the  false,  the  ri-ht  ami  the  wrong  ? 
Certainly  there  is  no  one  who  can  discharge 
as  he  can  the  office  of  instructor  and  fri 
and  prepare  us  by  evening  admonition- 
morn  |  and  daily  work.  Seri- 
ously and  kindly  he  will  inquire  of  us  what 
we  have  done  dm  in  ;ist  day.  If  we 
have  done  ill,  he  will  move  us  to  repgntai 

lone  well,   he  will  crown  us  with 

ion.     If  we   have   done  nothing, 

:i  standing  all  the  day  idle,  he  will 

to  us,  by  all  tho.^e  motives  which  are  most 

.:  with    tl.  .-    natmv,    to   redouble 

our  diligence  for  the  days  which  may  remain 

to  us,  in  nrdt-r  that  we  may,  as  far  as  possible, 

repair  our  loss. 

Let  us  call  to  mind  some  of  the  characters 
and  accompaniments   of   the   natural    evening, 
21 


322  CHRIST    WITH   US  AT  EVENING. 

and  mark  how  the  presence  of  Christ  and 
his  religion  harmonizes  with  them  and  ex- 
alts them. 

Peace  comes  with  evening.  It  is  a  gentle 
and  a  soothing  season.  But  the  peace  of  Christ 
abiding  with  us  will  make  it  yet  more  peace- 
ful ;  because  it  is  the  answer  of  the  internal  to 
the  external ;  the  quietness  of  the  bosom  ren- 
dering more  profound  and  grateful  the  quiet- 
ness of  the  atmosphere,  of  the  land,  and  of 
the  ocean ;  and  because  it  alone  can  give  secu- 
rity against  the  fears  of  darkness,  the  disturb- 
ances and  alarms  of  night.  It  is  a  peace 
which  corrects  all  that  harshness  of  our  hu- 
manity which  is  apt  to  disturb  with  its  dis- 
sonance the  repose  of  nature,  or  render  us 
impenetrable  to  its  influences. 

The  soft,  broad  shadows  come  with  evening. 
They  close  round  us  as  if  they  would  envelop 
and  shade  the  spirit,  too  much  heated  and 
wearied  before,  giving  it  time  for  restoration. 
But  how  much  safer  and  more  quiet  is  the 
spirit,  if  by  the  side  of  the  Son  of  God  it 
claims  a  higher  protection,  and  takes  refuge 
under  the  shadow  of  the  Almighty. 

The  dews  come  with  evening.  They  gather 
coolly  on  the  drooping  leaves,  and  stand  in  re- 
freshing drops  on  all  the  panting  flower-cups, 
and  on  every  blade  of  grass  ;  but  it  is  only 
the  Christian,  only  he  who  places  his  hope  in 


H7777   US  AT  EV 

.  nd  with  whom  Christ  is  abiding,  wlio 
tcil  with  what  a  reviving  i  flicacy  the  dews 
of  heavenly  grace  lull  down  upon  the  dro« 
soul. 

Tl  ome   out  with    evening. 

ididly    they    shine    and    solemnly  —  those 
so  far  away  t  i  y  beam  from 

them,  with  all  it-  ifl   iv<|tii: 

v  hither  ;   l>nt  with   a   nioiv  intel- 
tness  will  they  shine  it'  ( Ihrisl 
:    us  to  lead  our  adorinir   thoughts  to  the 
Almighty   Father,  who  feeds   them   with   their 

••d  a  ]>lacc'  yet    n 

I  and  more  glorious  than   theirs,   in  which 
ildren  shall   dwell    with    him 

Sleep  comes  with  evening.      I»ut   let  us  not 

•i,  as  do  the  flocks   and   herds  in   the 

•  him  who  sends  us 

slnmh*  r  ;   for  we  are  capable  of  n -li-ion,  and 

are  not.     Sweetly  will  sleep  fall  i 
eyeli  ive   been    Imldiu^r   communion 

with  ionr  in  h«-a\  enly-mindedness,  and, 

as  if  we  heard   from    him    the  words  of  kind 
n    now,    and    take   your 
•  ran  commrnd  ourselves  in  confid 
A'atchman  of  i 

2.  The  day,  which  was  far  spent  when  the 
two  •  r.mmaus,  was   the  day 

of  our  L  n.      It  was  the   : 


324          CHRIST  WITH   US  AT  EVENING. 

Christian  Sabbath,  the  first  Lord's  Day.  The 
associations  which  belong  to  that  clay,  and  the 
sacred  observances  to  which  it  has  been  de- 
voted, have  made  it  the  weekly  Sabbath  of 
Christians.  Sabbath  is  rest.  For  its  rest,  for 
its  silence,  for  its  holiness,  the  Sabbath  may  be 
likened  to  the  evening.  It  is  the  evening  of 
the  week.  At  this  season,  then,  so  especially 
consecrated  to  the  Saviour,  he  may  especially 
abide  with  us.  Indeed  we  would  meet  him 
every  day,  and  every  evening  we  would  ask 
him  to  abide  with  us ;  but  on  this  Evening  of 
the  week  his  abiding  with  us  may  be  more 
than  usually  confidential  and  uninterrupted. 
Who  shall  interrupt  it  with  the  noises  of  the 
world  ?  To  break  in  upon  the  devotion  of  the 
Lord's  Sabbath,  and  upon  the  repose  which  is 
connected  with  that  devotion,  with  no  plea  but 
one's  indifference  or  one's  fancy,  is  as  barba- 
rous a  thing,  and  as  offensive  to  right  feeling, 
as  if  the  rude  and  hasty  sounds  of  business 
were  to  be  wakened  up  at  nightfall,  to  rend 
and  break  asunder  the  calmness  of  eventide, 
and  tramp  and  rattle  through  the  offended 
darkness.  One  profanation  is  as  great  as  the 
other.  Let  the  evening  of  the  wreek,  as  the 
evening  of  the  day,  be  preserved  in  quietness, 
that  we  may  commune  with  the  Lord  of  this 
Sabbath,  and  he  may  expound  to  us  the  Script- 
ures, and  abide  with  us  in  peace. 


ir/77/  rs  ,-ir  i-:\'/-:\r-  325 

3.   But  there  U  another  evening.     Thi>   our 

tiled  a  day,  an-1  it   has  its  evening — 

which    many   of   our   rare,  however,    are  not 

I    to   M*.      It    is  when    the   sun,  which 

rose    on    our    birth,   and  glanced   IN  inorumi: 

beams    on    the    hours    of    cur    ehildho«»d    and 

youth,   has  passed   t:  lian  of  our  short 

maturity,   and    m»w   drops  down    toward    the 

place  of  its  setting,   to  rise  no  more  in   this 

world.     The  m«»i -nin^  has  passed  away  — 

ly  !  -          i    its    early    lights    and   fresh 
•:-h:i|>N  it-  1  aspirations, 

,   have  exha!  tin-  thin 

air.  The  hot  passions  and  noontide  turhu- 
y  manhood  are  assuaged.  The 
loud  winds  are  lull* d.  Coolness,  moderation, 
and  repose,  as  they  bet«.k.-n  the  natural  Bred' 
in::.  BO  arc  they  the  signs  of  man's  do 
Old  age  is  the  t-v^nini:  "f  lit*1. 

Ami   wlu-n   this   our   own    day   is  far  spent, 
and  inir  is  at  hand,  shall  we  not  de- 

sire that  the  Saviour  may  al.idr  with  us? 
Shall  we  not  need  his  company  i"  <>'"'  Bott- 
conversation  and  instrneti«»n  dur- 
ing the  sober  t  wilier  :  hi-  help  in  our 
weal  «TS  for  the  approaching 

1 1  ||    he    l>"'in    with     u-     through    tin1    d ;i 

D    in    the 
mor: 


326  CHRIST  WITH  US  AT  EVENING. 

guided  by  Lis  counsel ;  or,  if  we  wandered, 
did  we  hear  his  voice  and  return  ?  If  so,  then 
we  cannot  now  permit  him  to  depart  from  us  ; 
but,  having  enjoyed  his  sacred  fellowship  thus 
far,  we  shall  earnestly  beseech  him  to  abide 
with  us  to  the  end,  and  be  more  and  more 
near  to  us,  as  the  darkness  falls  faster  around 
us.  If  we  have  experienced  the  happiness  and 
safety  of  Christian  faith  in  our  past  life,  we 
surely  cannot  ^dispense  with  it  when  the  joys 
of  earth  are  becoming  more  few,  and  friends 
are  dropping  away,  and  our  eyes  are  growing 
dim,  and  that  last  hour  of  the  evening  is  draw- 
ing nigh  when  nothing  but  faith  can  yield  a 
ray  of  light  to  our  spirit,  or  put  a  staff  into  its 
hand,  as  it  enters  the  valley  alone.  If  Christ 
have  journeyed  with  us  in  our  youth  and 
strength,  —  and  happy  may  we  be  accounted 
if  he  have,  —  it  is  incredible  that  we  should 
suffer  him  to  leave  us  when  the  journey  is 
almost  accomplished  and  we  are  weary,  help- 
less, and  old. 

But  it  may  be  that  he  has  not  journeyed 
with  us  in  our  youth  and  strength,  and  that 
our  day,  far  spent  as  it  is,  has  been  spent  with- 
out him  and  away  from  him.  If  this  be  our 
case,  it  is  mournful,  but  not  yet  hopeless.  The 
Saviour  is  still  within  hearing.  The  pardon 
and  peace  of  the  gospel  may  be  found,  though 
sought  late,  if  they  be  sought  sincerely  and 


WITH   US  AT  EVENING.  327 

with  deep  p<  I  tlnis  seek    tliem 

in   <  foolishly  slighted   them   in 

with   a  more  marvel- 
lous folly,  think  that  we  cannot  decay?     Are 
we    so  blind   and    infatuated,    that,   while    the 
'nts  to  threescore   ami 
persuaded  that  the  i 

igh  ?      To  see  a  young  man  without  the 

beauty    •  ilia's,    principles    and 

hopes,  is  a  sight  of  sufficient  sadness ;  but  to 

see  an  old  man  without  its  supports,  consola- 

-,    and     fruit-*,    without     holiness,    without 

s  tnily  deplorable.       II. >\\    .an  they, 

inents  are  n 

firain  froi:  _;  him    immediately,  imploring 

him  t<>  ii   them,  and  asking  his 

ill  indulgent  l.h— ini:  on  their  gray 
hairs?     Why  will  they  not  ^o  to  him  at  « 
sayii  Hd  of  sinners !  abide  with  us,  for 

;ivc  no  help  or  hope  but  iu  thee  and  \  > 
abide  \\ith  u-,  forourday  Dm  -uu 

is  goini:  IK!  the  evening  is  darkly  clos- 

ing in  !  " 

Ai.  »t  one  half  of  those  who  arc  horn 

'd,   my  fri.'mk  M6    the  evcnin 
ige.      And  though  we  all  did,  it  .still  would 
be  our  best  wisdom  to  seek  tin    L  ,rd  betii 
to  m  fion   our  c-arlv  cujnj'anion,  and  not 

to  lose  ill   folly,  or   ahu>««    in    -in,  our  morning 
and  fall 


328  CHRIST   WITH   US  AT  EVENING. 

from  the  mountains  before  we  look  for  them. 
The  night  of  death  often  comes  down  sud- 
denly, and  unushered  by  the  gradual  evening. 
It  is  then  our  only  safe  course  to  engage  the 
Saviour  to  abide  with  us  constantly,  as  if  it 
were  always  toward  evening,  and  our  own  day 
were  far  spent.  And  while  this  course  is  the 
only  safe,  it  is  also  the  only  happy  one.  A 
state  of  preparation  is  far  from  being  a  state 
of  inquietude  and  gloom.  It  need  not  disturb 
one  joy  of  life.  It  ought  rather  to  enhance 
them  all.  Nor  can  there  be  any  gloom  where 
Christ  truly  abides.  His  presence  disperses 
all  terrors.  Unhappy  is  he  who  prepares  not, 
and  postpones  from  time  to  time  the  security 
of  the  Saviour's  companionship.  It  is  he  who 
is  exposed  to  the  terror  by  night,  and  the 
arrow  by  day.  It  is  he  whose  condition  is 
gloomy.  When  we  know  that  death  may  be 
near  at  any  moment,  how  can  we  suffer  the 
Redeemer  to  be  at  any  moment  away  from 
us  ?  How  can  we  think  serenely  of  the  im- 
pending night,  if  we  have  no  interest  in  him 
who  is  the  Light  of  men  ?  How  can  we  an- 
ticipate the  sleep  of  the  grave  with  any  calm- 
ness if  we  have  no  hope  of  sleeping  in  Jesus, 
no  trust  that  the  morning  of  the  resurrection 
will  shine  brightly  on  our  waking  eyes  ?  — 
The  night  cometh  ;  but  when,  we  do  not 
know.  The  disciple  will,  at  all  seasons,  and 


KIST   WITH  US  A'l  Y0. 

thn>  TV  hour,    keep  near   to    his    Mas- 

11.-  \\ill   -ay  to  him,   Abide  with   me   al- 

10  from  morn  till  eve, 

••  I  cannot  1 

Abide  with  me  when  death  is  nigh, 
For  without  thee  1  dare  not  die  1 " 

JULY  15,  1832. 


TIIK    KM>. 


OAMBEIMB:   ruirrai>  BT  u.  o.  aouoifoir. 


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